Full Throttle
by sideeffectsofjay
Summary: When the Behavioral Analysis Unit returns home from a grueling case in Washington state, everyone is exhausted. After a previous case has Agent Morgan wary of his best friend and fellow agent, Dr. Reid, taking the subway home alone at night, he offers to give him a ride home. Little do either of them know, it is an innocent favor that will change their lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First of all, thank you for reading! All reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated. Secondly, I'd like your opinion on something. I already know which direction this story is going plot-wise, but I'm not sure if I want it to be a Moreid story or just a story about their friendship/brotherly love. Let me know which you'd like to read!**

Derek Morgan's eyes flutter open. He's confused, and an excruciating pounding at the front of his head prevents him from thinking clearly. The room is eerily silent, which he finds odd considering he falls asleep with the television on every single night. He tries to roll over and look at the alarm clock, but he can't move. Something is restraining him. Did he bring a girl home last night? He can't remember.

Morgan racks his brain. It hurts to think. The last thing he remembers is telling his boss, Agent Hotchner, goodnight before leaving the BAU's office and going home to sleep. He remembers being exhausted after traveling all the way to Washington state for a case. There's no way he had been up to going out. Morgan closes his eyes again, performing a cognitive interview on himself to figure out what happened.

" _Hey, kid. You headed home?" Morgan steps into the elevator with Dr. Reid, who jabs a long, skinny finger into the ground floor button._

" _Yeah. I - I am." Reid rubs his eyes sleepily, not looking up from the tiled floor as he suppresses a yawn. Morgan looks at him worriedly._

" _You know what, why don't I give you a ride? It's been a tough week. You look beat."_

" _That really isn't necessary," the younger agent begins. Morgan knows that Reid hates asking for favors as well as receiving them. He's the youngest agent of the BAU, and he doesn't want to come off as a child._

" _Come on, Reid. It's really not a big deal. Your place isn't out of the way for me. I insist."_

" _Morgan, it's fine," Reid presses, his voice growing slightly irritated. "It isn't like I'm driving, anyway. You know I always take the subway."_

" _Yeah, I know. I just…" Morgan trails off, recalling a case in San Francisco from two weeks ago, where a serial killer had been targeting vulnerable young men on the subway system at night, raping them, strangling them, and then disposing of them in local bodies of water. He hates to make Reid feel weak, but he doesn't want anything happening to his best friend either._

" _Please?" Morgan tries again, making himself sound much softer than usual. Morgan isn't really the type for exceptional manners or begging, but something in his gut gives him a bad feeling. "I owe you one for the burger you bought me today."_

 _At his words, Reid finally looks up to meet Morgan's eyes. A small smile forms on his lips, and Morgan knows he has won. "That burger was seven dollars," Reid comments. "What kind of burger costs seven dollars?"_

 _Morgan laughs, putting an arm around Reid's shoulder and guiding him out of the elevator. Considering Reid is wary of human contact of any kind, Morgan is somewhat surprised when the other profiler doesn't wriggle his way out of the position. He chalks it up to the doctor just being tired as they exit the building and head towards Morgan's car._

Morgan's eyes open again. This time, everything is blurry. It's dark outside, but he can make out some shadows and outlines. It definitely doesn't look like his bedroom, unless someone started growing trees in his house while he was in Washington. As he brings his hands up to rub his eyes, a sharp pain runs through his left arm. Morgan winces, trying to turn his head and examine the wound, though he doesn't seem to be able to move his neck at all. He tries to call out, but his throat is too dry.

Taking a few deep breaths, Morgan uses his other arm to clear his vision. He rubs his eyes with his fist, pulling away when something hot and sticky drips onto his arm. "What the…?" He says aloud. Instead of his own, deep voice, all Morgan hears is an intense ringing in his ears. It cuts through the silence like a knife, and he instinctively brings his hand up to his ear. It doesn't hurt and it doesn't seem to be bleeding, so Morgan takes this as a good sign. Whatever happened, the hearing loss is probably temporary and should clear up within a few minutes.

Since he can't move or hear, Morgan lets his eyelids close one more time, trying desperately to remember anything after the BAU parking lot. Brief images flash through his mind, but they are mostly dark and scattered into random pieces. As they swirl around in his head, only one vision is clear enough to make out.

 _Morgan's eyes glance towards his right, his lips curling up into a smile when he sees Reid curled up against the passenger door and his messenger bag clutched against his chest. He reaches over to wake him, and everything goes black._

He opens his eyes with a start, panic coursing through his body like a raging wildfire. "Reid?" Morgan shouts desperately. It comes out scratchy and broken, but Morgan can hear himself. His voice is muffled underneath of the ringing in his head, which has quieted some since it first started. He thinks he can hear sirens in the distance, but fears it is his mind playing tricks on him.

"Okay," Morgan whispers, willing himself to stay calm. "Okay, I need to get out of here." Very slowly and even more painfully, Morgan crosses his right arm over his chest and fiddles with his seatbelt. It feels as if he is being stabbed in the ribs over and over again, but he ignores it. Finally, the belt clicks loose. Morgan breathes a sigh of relief, but the real task has just began.

With everything he has in him, Morgan forces himself to move his head to the left. It hurts, but not nearly as bad as his arm does. He looks down at it, half expecting to find a bloody bone sticking out of his skin. There is blood, but it doesn't appear to be broken. Instead, a large slab of glass sticks through his skin, just below the elbow. He bites down on his lip hard and pulls it out, tossing it out of the broken window and struggling to stay conscious.

While Morgan has had a touch-and-go relationship with his faith for many years, he prays to God that when he turns his head to the other side, he will see nothing but an empty seat. "God, please tell me I took him home already. Please." His breath is shaky as he slowly turns his head, keeping his eyes closed for fear of what he might see. When he opens them again, his heart catches in his throat.

"R - Reid," Morgan chokes out.

There's blood everywhere. Reid isn't moving. His head is turned towards the crushed window, blocking Morgan's view to get a good look at his face. Morgan howls in pain as he turns his body to the side, placing two of his fingers against his friend's neck.

"No, no, no…" Not feeling a pulse, Morgan's thoughts become jumbled and hazy. Tears sting his eyes and roll down his cheeks. "Come on, Derek," he instructs himself, "Get it together. Now isn't the time."

Thinking quickly, Morgan gently unwraps Reid's purple scarf from around his neck. Using his right hand and his teeth, he wraps it around his own arm and ties it as tightly as he can, hoping to slow the blood gushing from where the glass had been. He then tries his own door, not really surprised when it doesn't budge. Morgan twists around in his seat as white-hot pain rushes through him from head to toe. He has to cling to the steering wheel for a moment to keep from passing out. Once the nausea has subsided, he raises his boots up to the window and kicks the rest of the glass out, pushing himself out feet first.

He falls onto the cool grass and lays there for no more than a minute, quickly regaining his footing and scurrying around to the other side of the car. Both sides and the top are smashed in, suggesting that the car rolled all the way down the steep hill to the left of them.

Morgan reaches the passenger side of the car and frantically yanks at the handle. "Dammit!" He yells when it doesn't budge. The window is smashed in, but the sheet of glass remains in the frame despite the thousands of tiny cracks trailing across it. Because Reid's head is resting against it in a bloody mess, Morgan knows he can't kick the glass in as he did on his own side.

The ringing in his ears has stopped entirely now, and Morgan is certain that he hears sirens. They are growing louder, and he makes the difficult decision to leave Reid and climb up the hill, afraid that they will pass them by since the wreckage is down over a bank. The ground is slippery and everything hurts, but Morgan manages to reach the pavement just as flashing red and white lights speed around the corner. He steps into the middle of the road and puts a hand up to flag the ambulance down, blinded and slightly dazed by the bright yellow headlights.

The driver comes to a screeching halt and three paramedics hop out of the back just as a fire truck squeals up behind them. "My friend…" Morgan chokes out as the world around him starts to spin. "I think he's...you have to help him."

"Sir, I need you to just relax and lie down." A young, brunette paramedic puts a hand on Morgan's back to steady him as a man rushes over with a gurney. The two of them carefully guide Morgan to lay down, but he resists them.

"No!" Morgan screams, panic rising in his chest once more. "My friend is down there! Go to him! I'm fine!"

"Sir," the woman says calmly, looking Morgan directly in the eyes as she tries to soothe him. "You have a concussion. We're going to help him, but we need you to lie down."

"His name…" Morgan begins. A strange feeling washes over him. His body feels weightless, but at the same time, it's as if all the gravity in the world is pressing down and crushing him into the core of the Earth. "His name is Spencer and I can't lose him." For the second time tonight, the world around him switches off.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow! I wasn't expecting so many of you to enjoy this story. Because of the responses I've gotten, I've decided to make this a brotherly love type story. If you voted for Moreid though, I do have a one-shot called "Stay With Me" that features a little Moreid fluff, and will probably have more Moreid stories in the future. Thank you for reading this story, and please keep in mind that I'm not a doctor, so I apologize if anything seems unrealistic about it!**

It is 10:26 P.M. when Agent Hotchner's phone buzzes loudly on his nightstand. He rolls over with a start, dreading a new case so soon. He squints into the bright light, surprised when an unfamiliar number flashes on the screen.

"Aaron Hotchner," he says in a tired voice. He'd only just fallen asleep twenty minutes ago.

"Mr. Hotchner, I'm calling from the George Washington University Hospital. I have you listed as the health care proxy for Mr. Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid. Is that correct?"

"Yes, is something wrong?" Hotch sits up on the side of his bed, fear bubbling in his chest. As the team's leader, he's used to remaining calm under stressful situations and keeping his head straight when someone is injured or in danger, but there is no suppressing the adrenaline that courses through his body every time the word "hospital" and one of his agents' names are spoken in the same sentence.

"Sir, there's been an accident."

"An accident?" He asks, already standing up and pulling on his pants, tucking his cell phone between his ear and shoulder. "I don't understand." Confusion floods Hotch's mind as he tries to work out what could've happened to Morgan and Reid simultaneously while they were off-duty. It had been his understanding that everyone was going home to get some rest, and Hotch knows that the team wouldn't act on a case without contacting him first.

"It was an automobile accident, Mr. Hotchner."

"Well are they okay?" Hotch's voice rises, and he immediately regrets lashing out at the woman on the other end of the line, who is just doing her job by contacting him.

"I'm afraid that our security policy prevents us from releasing sensitive details over the phone, but you're welcome to come in."

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry." Hotch rubs his temple. He should've known they can't tell him anything over the phone, but he isn't exactly thinking straight. "Let me make arrangements for my child and I'll be there as soon as I can." Without waiting for a response, Hotch hangs up the phone, throws on a tee shirt and shoes, and practically runs into his son's room.

"Jack, buddy. Wake up. Daddy has to go into work for a little while, okay? I'm going to see if you can stay at Mrs. Jameston's house until I get back." Hotch decides it best to tell his son that it is work-related, because the young boy greatly admires all of his colleagues and he doesn't want to worry him if it isn't necessary. Jack groans something incomprehensible as his dad picks him up and throws a blanket over him, carrying him out of the house in his pajamas.

He walks up the steps to his neighbor's front door, feeling guilty as he rings the bell and probably wakes Mrs. Jameston from her sleep. The older woman has always told Hotch that she'd be more than happy to watch Jack if he is called away on short notice and can't get his usual babysitter, but he's tried to avoid having to ask the favor.

Hotch is just about to push the doorbell again when a light inside flicks on and the silhouette of a small, short lady appears in front of the door. She peeks out from behind the blinds and quickly opens the door once she realizes who has disturbed her at this hour.

"Mrs. Jameston," Hotch begins as soon as the door swings open, "I'm very sorry for bothering you this late at night, but something's come up and I need to go as soon as possible and - "

"Come in, come in!" The woman ushers Hotch and Jack inside, cutting him off from his frantic rambling.

"Thank you," he says gratefully, placing Jack on her couch and kissing him on the forehead. He walks back over towards the door and indicates for Mrs. Jameston to follow, speaking in a hushed voice once he thinks they are out of Jack's earshot.

"It's not work related. Well, it is but...two of my agents have been involved in an off-duty car accident and they don't have any family in the city. They couldn't give details over the phone but it doesn't sound good. I haven't told Jack because he really loves them and I don't want him to worry."

Mrs. Jameston raises a fragile hand to shush the agent. "Aaron, you don't have to explain anything to me. We'll be fine. Now go."

Hotch thanks his neighbor once again before jogging back over to his house, already dialing Rossi's number as he gets into his car and starts the engine. The older profiler answers on the third ring. "This better be good," he murmurs in a state of half-sleepiness.

"Dave, Morgan and Reid have been hurt. I don't know how bad. I need everyone at the George Washington University Hospital as soon as possible."

"We'll be right there," Rossi answers, no questions asked. Hotch ends the call and speeds off down the road, confident that Rossi will follow the proper chain of command in order to alert his entire team. They've done it many times before; Hotch calls Rossi, Rossi calls Morgan, Morgan calls Prentiss, and so on down the line until Reid, JJ, and Garcia have all been notified as well. Of course, two of the links are missing, but his team knows what to do in crisis situations. They know how to remain calm, or so he hopes they do.

It doesn't take long for Hotch to arrive at the hospital. Thankfully traffic is fairly uncongested for the time of night, and he only hits three red lights along the way. Hotch barely gives time for his tires to stop rolling before he's yanking his key out of the ignition and jumping out. He rushes through a set of automatic doors with "EMERGENCY" plastered above them in bold, red lettering. He wastes no time in approaching the front desk and demanding answers, putting on his head-honcho attitude in the hopes of getting them faster.

"I'm Aaron Hotchner with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit." He flashes her his credential, which he'd remembered to stuff into the pocket of his jeans before leaving his home. "I got a call about two of my agents - Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid?"

The woman behind the counter types something into her computer and then gets up, walks around the desk, and motions for Hotch to follow her down the hallway. She fills him in as they walk. "Agent Morgan suffered fairly minor injuries. You'll be able to go in with him, but he may not be awake yet. Dr. Reid is in our trauma center undergoing emergency surgery."

She says the words as if they are no big deal, but to Hotch, they cause his lungs to drop all the way to the floor. "I'm sorry...trauma center? What are the extent of his injuries?"

The pair come to a halt outside of a door, where the name _D. Morgan_ has been printed out and taped to the wall haphazardly.

"I'm afraid I can't say for sure," she says gravely. "When first responders arrived, Dr. Reid's legs were crushed under the steel framing of the vehicle. It took firefighters some time to extract him. He'd lost a lot of blood, and took a blow to the head as well as some shrapnel damage. A doctor will be in to see you shortly."

Hotch takes a deep breath as the world around him starts to feel much bigger than himself. He debates calling after the nurse as she walks back towards her station, but he manages to control his temper and turns instead to the door behind him, gently pushing it open and walking inside.

As soon as he enters the dimly-lit, sterile room, a steady beeping fills Hotch's ears. He steps around a curtain to see Morgan lying in a hospital bed, appearing to be sleeping peacefully. Hotch supposes it has something to do with whatever clear liquid drips from an I.V. attached to the back of Morgan's hand. The sight raises new questions in Hotch's mind. Was Morgan able to tell the paramedics that Reid refuses narcotics before they were hauled away in separate ambulances?

After the young agent had been kidnapped and drugged by an UnSub with Dissociative Identity Disorder, he had fallen victim to a ruthless drug addiction. Hotch had noticed the signs, and he was sure that other members of the team had too, but none of them said anything. They didn't want to ruin the doctor's reputation, or their personal relationships with him. Hotch sighs to himself, sitting down in an uncomfortable plastic chair and pulling himself out of his thoughts - focusing instead on Morgan.

A white bandage wraps around the agent's head, likely where his forehead had made contact with the airbag. A few scratches are scattered around his cheeks and chin, but nothing to be alarmed about. His left arm is wrapped in a similar bandage as the one on his head, but is also placed in a sling that wraps around his neck. Hotch notices that the strap of the sling is tangled around the oxygen tube leading to Morgan's nose, and he gently straightens out the mess. Other than those few injuries, Morgan looks mostly unharmed. Of course, Hotch can't see anything past his waist, which has been covered by a thin, white blanket. He can only hope for the best.

It is only ten minutes later when Agent Rossi walks into the room, his salt and pepper hair disheveled on top of his head. "What happened?" He asks breathlessly. He must've ran all the way from his car to Morgan's room.

"I don't know," Hotch replies in a hushed voice. "Reid is in the trauma wing undergoing surgery. Morgan looks okay, other than an arm and head injury. Are the others on their way?"

Rossi turns his attention to the bed, his heart sinking at the sight of their strongest agent looking so vulnerable in a hospital gown and bandages. He hasn't moved a muscle since Hotch first arrived, but the steady beeping of his heart monitor provides reassurance.

"Yes," Rossi informs his boss, pulling up another chair next to Morgan's bed. "Emily was already in her car by the time we got off the phone."

"Good," Hotch says, not meeting Rossi's eyes and instead looking at the gray tiles on the floor. He ponders in his head how to break the news to the rest of his team, but doesn't have time to come up with anything before Emily is rushing through the door, followed closely by JJ and Garcia.

"What happened?" JJ and Prentiss ask in unison as Garcia gravitates to Morgan's bedside with a gasp. She gently picks up his hand and places it in hers, and then looks to Hotch and Rossi for answers.

"There was a car accident," he begins.

"Where's Reid?" JJ demands, preferring to save all the details for later. She'd always been close friends with the genius, despite Morgan's jokes that Reid has a crush on her.

Hotch sighs and looks down at his hands. At work, it is usually JJ who acts as a liaison and delivers unpleasant news to families and the press. In this moment, Hotch is starting to realize how difficult her job truly is and how easily she seems to do it. He reminds himself to appreciate her more.

"He's in surgery," Rossi finally answers for him. "That's all we know right now."

"What about him?" Prentiss asks, nodding her head in Morgan's direction. Garcia still stands beside him, making no effort to move or at least get a chair. JJ retrieves one from the corner and sits it down next to Garcia, who looks at her gratefully before sitting down.

"He's going to be fine," Hotch reassures his team, trying his hardest to regain his posture. "He's on a morphine drip, but he should be waking up soon."

As if on cue, a small but audible grunt comes from the sea of white blankets on the bed. Garcia leans forward in her chair in anticipation. Morgan's eyes open slowly, blinking in confusion a few times before finally becoming fully alert.

"Baby girl," he says in a low, dry voice. "What happened?"

"You don't remember anything?" Prentiss walks around to the other side of the bed, scooting past Hotch and Rossi, who stay seated and let the women work their motherly instincts.

"You guys look…" He trails off, his eyes closing once more. JJ shares a glance with Prentiss from across the bed, who leans closer and whispers his name in his ear. Morgan opens his eyes again, this time turning his head in Prentiss' direction. "You guys look beautiful."

Prentiss raises her eyebrows, leaning back and looking over at Garcia and JJ, who stare back at her with the same perplexed look. Behind Prentiss, Rossi tries and fails to stifle a laugh. She turns and gives him a menacing look.

"What?" Rossi asks incredulously, raising both hands in defense. "It just amazes me that he's still so charming, even under the influence."

"Yeah, _charming."_ JJ rolls her eyes. "More like the biggest player this side of the emergency wing."

Some of the heaviness dissolves amongst the group as they all share a laugh before turning their attention back to Morgan, who seems to be oblivious to their joke as he blinks up at the ceiling quietly.

"Morgan," Prentiss says again, putting her hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I...I…" He licks his lips as he struggles to find the words in his drugged up state. Garcia picks a styrofoam cup of ice water up off the bedside table and instructs him to take a drink, not giving him any option as she forces the straw into his mouth. The water seems to give him a little bit of life, and he winces in pain as he forces himself to sit up straighter in bed.

"There were sirens," he starts. Garcia squeezes his hand tighter in support, satisfied when he holds her hand back. "I remember climbing up a hill and then…" Morgan goes to rub his forehead with his injured arm, gritting his teeth as pain shoots from his wrist to his elbow. He looks down at the sling as if it is the first time he's realized it's there, and then around the room at his co-workers.

Everything clicks into place all at once and Morgan seems to sober up in the blink of an eye. He lets go of Garcia's hand and rips the oxygen tube from his nose. The swift action causes the pulse oximeter to fall off his index finger, and a high-pitched frequency replaces the steady beeping that once filled the room. Hotch and Rossi both stand and prepare to restrain Morgan if he tries to get up, but two nurses rush into the room and usher them out of the way.

"Sir, I need you to lie back down. Everything is fine," one of them says, softly but with a sense of urgency.

"Reid!" Morgan mutters, appearing to be talking to himself as he fumbles with the I.V. in the back of his hand. "I need to see him. I need to - "

"Mr. Morgan!" The other nurse says, louder than the first. She manages to get Morgan's attention, who looks up at her with nostrils flaring.

Hotch makes a move to intervene, but Rossi puts out a hand to stop him. He is confident that Morgan wouldn't hurt an innocent being, especially a female, no matter what kind of medication he's on.

"It's _Agent_ Morgan," he snarls. "And I need to be with Dr. Reid."

"Okay, agent," the nurse reassures him. Her change in tone calms him, and the two of them are able to push him back into a lying position. "Look. I'm going to stop this medicine, okay?" Morgan watches closely as she flips a switch on a metal pole next to his bed and then unplugs a tube from the contraption on his hand, leaving the needle in place in case he needs more medicine later.

"Now, you're probably going to feel some discomfort in your arm once the morphine wears off. I can give you some painkillers for it if -"

"No," Morgan interrupts coldly. "What you can do is take me to Reid."

"Sir, I understand that you are worried about your colleague, but -"

"He's my _friend_ ," Morgan says, ignoring Garcia's attempts to calm him down.

"My apologies." The nurse smiles sweetly as she puts the oximeter back onto his finger. He doesn't resist her, but his facial expression shows that he isn't too happy about it either. The beeping starts back up, a little faster this time than before all the chaos ensued.

"I understand that you are worried about your friend, and I promise that we will take you to him as soon as we can. But you need to relax and let the morphine run its course, okay? You have a mild concussion and it isn't healthy for your blood pressure to spike like this. Just calm down, and I promise I'll be back to get you and take you to Dr. Reid."

Morgan doesn't say anything. He doesn't even nod. He just closes his eyes in frustration, feeling desperate and weak since he can't do anything other than lay in an uncomfortable bed and take orders from someone who doesn't understand what he's going through. He hears one of the nurses say something about only one visitor at a time, someone else say Garcia's name, and a series of well-wishes before a door is shut and everything goes quiet. It's a few minutes before anyone speaks again.

"Derek, please tell me what happened. I want to help you but I can't if -" Garcia stops mid-sentence, tears streaming down her face as Morgan turns to look at her. Relief washes over her as his hand comes up to swipe her tears away - it is the kind-hearted man that she's always known and loved like family, despite their frequent flirty behavior. The BAU is family, and when one of their own is hurt, they all are.

"None of that, baby girl. You wouldn't want to ruin your makeup."

"I - uh...I'm not wearing any." She self-consciously looks down at her lap, only just becoming aware that she didn't even try to fix her messy blonde hair before leaving the house in her pajamas and robe.

"Hmm…" Morgan says playfully, "I _thought_ you looked prettier than usual."

"You don't look bad yourself, Chocolate Thunder." Garcia laughs, but sadness returns to her eyes as she looks up at Morgan. "Please...please tell me what happened." Morgan sighs and looks away from her.

He allows his eyes to close as he thinks back to everything that he could remember. He tells Garcia about his exchange with Reid in the elevator, waking up in his car, and climbing up the bank to get the paramedics. "It was all my fault," he says sadly, thinking back to the image of Reid asleep in the passenger seat and how he'd tried to wake him up. "We were only a few minutes from his house."

"No," Garcia says flatly. Morgan looks at her in confusion as she continues. "This isn't your fault, Derek. You could've been hurt just as bad as him." She regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips.

"What do you mean, 'just as bad as him?'" Morgan sits up in his bed again. He doesn't try to get up this time, but he glares at Garcia angrily, waiting for an answer.

"I…" Garcia begins nervously, unsure of what to say. Morgan deserves to know what's going on with Reid, but she doesn't want to cause him any more pain than what he's already in.

"Penelope," he warns. "Tell me."

"Okay," Garcia says in defeat, not meeting Morgan's eyes as she tells him everything that Rossi and Hotch had told her. "He's...he's in surgery, in the trauma center. We don't know how bad."

Morgan's eyebrows furrow as a look of intensity crosses his face. He looks like he is about to explode, but Garcia is saved the drama when a soft knock comes at the door and an older doctor in a lab coat enters the room, JJ trailing behind him and gesturing for Garcia to follow her out of the room. Garcia glances between JJ and Morgan, torn between going out with the rest of her team and staying with Morgan.

"Go ahead," Morgan encourages her, giving her hand a squeeze before letting it go entirely. Reluctantly, Garcia stands and kisses Morgan on the cheek before walking out with JJ, leaving just the doctor and Morgan alone in the room.

"How's Reid?" Morgan asks before the doctor has a chance to say anything.

"Agent Morgan," he says cheerily, reading over some paperwork attached to a wooden clipboard in his hands. "My name is Dr. Ramirez." He reaches a hand out for Morgan to shake, who just stares at it. He isn't pleased that no one will answer his questions about his best friend.

"You're a very lucky man, Agent Morgan. Accident reconstruction says your car overcorrected and rolled at least six times down a steep embankment before crashing into a tree. You walked away with a mild concussion and four stitches to the left arm."

"What about my passenger?" Morgan tries again, taking a more friendly approach this time. Clearly, being angry at everyone isn't getting him anywhere. The doctor sighs in dread, taking a seat in the chair that Garcia occupied just moments before.

"I was just telling the rest of your team that he came out of surgery moments ago. There were...complications."

"Complications?" Morgan asks, his stubbornness melting into fear.

"Dr. Reid was on the side of the car that received the most damage," Dr. Ramirez explains. "He got the initial impact as well as the tree, which thankfully stopped the car from rolling into a lake. The front end of the passenger side caved in on Dr. Reid's legs, nearly severing them just below the knee."

The machine next to Morgan starts to beep faster and faster as panic takes hold. He grips the metal bars on his bed until his dark knuckles turn snow-white, ignoring the pain starting up in his head. "You said... _nearly_ severing?" He tries to stay hopeful, but the look on Dr. Ramirez's face makes it difficult.

"We were skeptical at first, but my team of surgeons were able to save them both without resulting in _too_ much blood loss."

"What's the bad news?" Morgan asks. There's always bad news, and for some reason, doctors always save it for last.

"The weight of the car did a number on his nerves. It cut cleanly through the Tibia on the left leg, and crushed the Fibula on the right. We were able to reconstruct both bones, but it is too early to tell how extensive damage to the nerves and muscle will be."

"W - what are you saying?" Morgan is sure he already knows the answer to his own question, but he prays that he is wrong.

"I am saying, Agent Morgan, that there's a chance that your friend will not walk again." Dr. Ramirez pauses, allowing time for his words to sink in, though he knows that news like this never feels real - not fully, anyway. "Would you like to see him?" He asks in an attempt to take Morgan's mind off of what he's just been told.

Thousands of things race through Morgan's mind so quickly that it's impossible to catch a single one and make sense of it. _Reid. Crushed. Nerves. Surgery. Not walk again._ "All my fault…" he starts, but barely gets the words out before he's bent over double and dry heaving as he struggles to get a full breath of air.

Dr. Ramirez places a bedpan in his lap just on time. Nothing but bile spills into the plastic container as Morgan chokes on his own vomit, making him throw up more. Sweat and tears mix on his face as the world closes in around him, making it more and more difficult to get any oxygen into his lungs. The fit lasts for about thirty seconds, but to Morgan, it seems like a thousand lifetimes.

"Take me to him. Take me to him _now._ "


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is so short. I know I've been leaving you guys hanging at the end of each chapter so I thought I'd leave this one on a sweeter note!**

In the waiting room, JJ puts a comforting hand on Garcia's shoulder. "It isn't Derek's fault, Garcia. He knows that. It'll just take time."

"I don't know," Garcia counters, using a crumpled up tissue to soak up her tears. Prentiss sits on the other side of her, also attempting to calm her down. Hotch and Rossi had said they were going to find a coffee machine, but JJ suspects they were just giving the girls space to deal with the news in their "girl way," as Rossi had once called it.

"You didn't see him in there. He was so...mad. And then...when Dr. Ramirez told him about...I just can't imagine how he reacted." All three women fall silent, recalling the same news that the doctor had told them just before going to speak with Morgan. JJ and Prentiss had held onto one another in the hallway for what felt like hours. Rossi excused himself to get some fresh air, and even Hotch had to sit down for a while. It had been Prentiss who told Garcia, and she'd been sitting in hysterics ever since.

"Morgan is experiencing the seven stages of grief," Rossi informs the girls, walking back into the room with three cups of coffee. He hands one to Prentiss and Garcia, and Hotch gives the extra one in his hand to JJ.

"Seven? I thought there were only five?" Garcia asks as she takes a big gulp of the sugary goodness. That's what her therapist had told her when both of her parents died, and that is what she's always believed and taught as a grief counselor.

"It depends on which theory you follow," Hotch tells them. "Some say five. Others say seven. One even says fourteen."

"He's right," Rossi agrees. "One model can't possibly explain grief for everyone. We all handle it differently."

"Well where is Morgan at on this model, supposing it's the same for everyone?" Prentiss asks, curious now about the science behind the process.

"Stages two and three. The first is shock, but it's primarily used as emotional protection. Morgan's tough. His brain probably wouldn't feel the need to protect his heart. The second stage is pain and guilt. Garcia said that Morgan feels the accident is his fault, right?" Garcia nods at Rossi, a blank, painful expression still plastered to her face. "The third is anger. Let's be honest. When is Morgan not angry when one of his friends are hurt?"

The team thinks to themselves. Morgan comes off as the "tough guy" of the BAU. No one would argue with that statement, but they also know there's another side to him. He's protective by nature, and he often masks pain with anger. Instead of allowing himself to empathize with a friend, he manifests his feelings into anger and goes after whoever hurt them in the first place. In this case, it is him, or so he believes.

"I thought we agreed not to profile each other."

JJ, Prentiss, Garcia, Rossi, and Hotch all turn their attention to a familiar voice, where they see Agent Morgan standing, still in his hospital gown, bandages, and sling. His skin is paler than usual and, if you look close enough, you'll see that his hands are trembling. Rossi notices this, but can't be sure if it's from shock or fatigue.

"They released you?" Prentiss asks, stepping up and giving Morgan a gentle hug. He returns it with his good arm, and then turns to speak to the rest of his team.

"Not technically. I have to sign some paperwork and stuff first." Morgan hesitates. He almost feels bad for what he is about to do. "Dr. Ramirez is going to let me see Reid." At his words, everyone jumps anxiously to their feet.

"He isn't supposed to have visitors in intensive care." Morgan breaks the news, now looking down at his shoeless feet instead of the people in front of him. "They're making an exception for me."

Everyone is still for a moment, but JJ eventually approaches Morgan. "Hey, it's okay," she reassures him after seeing the guilt in his eyes. "If anyone is going to be there for Spence, it should be you."

"Thank you," Morgan almost whispers, his voice cracking as he pulls JJ into a one-arm hug. She thinks she feels a tear drip into her hair, but doesn't address it. Morgan isn't the type of man to cry, and she imagines he would be embarrassed if he thought anyone noticed. "You guys should go home and rest."

"No," Hotch says before anyone else has an opportunity to, though they were all thinking the same thing. "We operate as a family and that means we stick together, no matter what."

"Hotch, I appreciate that. I really do." Morgan steps towards Hotch, a glint of thankfulness in his puffy eyes. "But the doc said Reid will be out of it for the rest of the night, at least. I'll call each of you personally if anything changes. But right now you can't do anything sitting in this waiting room. Go home to Jack, and the rest of you go sleep." Morgan extends his arm to shake Hotch's hand. Hotch looks down at it and then at the rest of his team. They all stare back at him, hoping that he will stand his ground.

"Morgan's right," Hotch finally says, taking the younger agent's hand in his own. He debates it in his head for a few seconds, and finally decides it would be appropriate to hug Morgan. Morgan is taken aback and doesn't return the gesture at first, given that his boss is always incredibly professional and rarely shows care at all, let alone affection. They all know that he does care for them, he just doesn't show it. He is the leader of the team and must act as one, even if that means seeming cold-hearted at times.

Morgan returns the hug, muttering a "thank you" into Hotch's ear before they pull apart.

"I'll be back here first thing in the morning," Hotch tells Morgan. "You guys go get some rest." He bids everyone farewell, and then disappears around the corner.

Prentiss and Garcia each hug Morgan, followed by a friendly pat on the back from Rossi. Garcia makes Morgan promise her that she'll be the first one he calls, and he pats her on the head before the three of them leave together.

"JJ…" Morgan starts once they're alone. He's cut off when JJ wraps her arms around his back, resting her head on his chest and letting her tears drip freely onto his gown.

"Do you think it's true? That he won't walk again?" Her voice is muffled by the thin material. Morgan puts his hand on the back of JJ's head, patting her hair softly.

"JJ, listen to me. Reid is a lot stronger than what we give him credit for, okay? He'll pull through."

"But what if he doesn't?" It isn't like JJ to doubt her team, but she can't help herself. She has to prepare for the worst.

"There's no time for what-ifs." Morgan takes half a step back, using his thumb to wipe away his colleague's tears. "You aren't going to sleep, are you?" JJ looks up at him, mouth half open as she tries to answer him.

"Don't lie to me. I know you aren't. They aren't either." Morgan gestures towards the door that everyone else had walked out of moments before. "Look, I wouldn't ask, but I know you could use the distraction."

"No, it's no problem," JJ responds quickly, drying her face with the palms of her hands and regaining herself. "Anything you need. Always." Morgan nods gratefully, but hesitates to ask the favor. He's not used to needing help.

"Do you think you could head over to my place and get me a change of clothes? Maybe my toothbrush, phone charger, whatever else you think could be useful. It looks like Pretty Boy's stuck here a while, but he's not going to be stuck here alone."

"Of course." JJ smiles, her heart swelling at Morgan's kind gesture. At work, Morgan picks on Reid a lot and acts like the younger agent gets on his nerves, but they all know that Morgan sees Reid as his little brother and would move mountains for him. "Do you have your keys?"

Morgan stalls. That's something he hasn't thought through. Surely someone had gotten them from the accident. They'd have to know that he can't go without his keys. Seeing the blank expression on his face, JJ instructs him to sit while she goes to find them.

She returns less than two minutes later with a white bag in her hand marked with the words "personal belongings," handing it over to him unopened. He thanks her as he struggles to untie the top of it with one hand. JJ takes it back with a laugh, easily undoing the knot and sitting it back on Morgan's lap. He pulls out a pair of jeans, a ripped shirt, and his cracked cell phone - which thankfully still works - before freezing on the spot.

"What's wrong?" JJ asks worriedly. She glances in the bag to see what affected Morgan, and grows quiet herself when she sees the bloody item inside. "Is that…" She begins.

"It's my blood," Morgan reassures her, pulling a bright purple scarf out and holding it gingerly, as if it is a newborn baby. "I used it to stop the blood in my arm. It was...his favorite one." A look of guilt washes over Morgan, and JJ understands what upset him in the first place. It wasn't the scarf - it was the guilt.

"It's just a scarf, Derek. He can buy a new one."

"He can't buy new legs, can he?" Morgan suddenly snaps, his grip on the fabric tightening. Three different emotions seem to take hold within the course of a few seconds. First anger, and then resentment towards himself as Morgan strikes his fist down on his own leg. JJ instinctively reaches out and grabs Morgan's arm, feeling his flexed muscles relax as his whole body starts to tremble with overwhelming sadness. He bites his lip to keep from crying as he pulls the scarf into his chest, closing his eyes and taking in the familiar, fresh, spring-like smell of his friend. Reid never wore much cologne, so he mostly just smelled like his laundry detergent. There was something comforting about it.

"Morgan, it's okay to be upset." JJ attempts to validate Morgan's feelings so that he will release them, but she knows it is a far-cry.

"I'm fine," Morgan assures her, though she can hear the weakness in his voice. He digs around in the bag and pulls out a set of keys, pointing out which one unlocks the door to his house. "Thanks, JJ."

The two part ways, and Morgan's heart beats a little harder in his chest as he follows the arrows on the wall to the trauma center, specifically the intensive care wing.

Everything is so silent and dark when he first enters the room, Morgan wonders if the doctor has sent him to the right place. He retrieves his phone from the bag and uses it as a flashlight to navigate around a curtain that separates the rest of the room from the door.

Morgan has to use the back of a nearby chair for balance as the dim light floods the bed in the center of the room. It is nearly impossible to make out who lies underneath the heap of blankets, tubes, and cords, each connecting to a different part of Reid's body and running into different machines surrounding him. Some tubes run under the blankets to unknown locations, while others are stuck to his chest, arms, and even his head. Unlike Morgan, he wears an oxygen mask instead of just little tubes in his nose. He appears lifeless.

Morgan takes a deep breath and inches closer to the bed. Some of the machines and poles are unfamiliar to him, but he recognizes two different bags of fluids hanging on an I.V. pole, a heart monitor with far many more numbers and charts than the one he'd had, and a catheter.

 _Ouch_ , he thinks to himself.

Pulling up a chair, Morgan gets as close to the bed as he can and observes the damage as best he can in the dark. There are stitches on Reid's forehead and a nasty bruise on his right cheek, but he knows the worst of it is covered by the sheets draped over his body. He tries to say something, but he knows that Reid won't hear him and he wouldn't know what to say anyway. Instead, Morgan reaches his hand out to take Reid's, decides against it, and then changes his mind again.

He picks Reid's smaller hand up in his own, treating it like that of a porcelain doll that will break in the smallest gust of wind. His skin is soft, but freezing cold to the touch. Hissing in pain, Morgan wriggles his left arm out of the sling and places his other hand on top of Reid's, sandwiching it between the two in an attempt to warm it. He wants to tell Reid how sorry he is - how he wishes more than anything that he could take his place - but can't bring himself to do it for fear of choking on his words.

Morgan turns slightly to the side in his chair and leans his head over, using the side of Reid's bed as a pillow. The position is uncomfortable and he knows it will make his neck even more sore than what it already is, but he's too exhausted - physically and emotionally - to care. It only takes forty seconds for Morgan to drift off to sleep, one of his hands still holding onto that of his best friend's.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know the last two chapters haven't been as good as the first two, but I've kind of been working through a writer's block and I also needed some fillers in order to give Reid enough time to wake up. I also felt it was necessary to address how some of the other team members are feeling, so this chapter kind of focuses more on that. I promise things are going to get a lot better in chapter five!**

The sun is radiating throughout the room, reflecting off every particle of dust that floats in the stale air when Morgan awakes again. He looks around drowsily, taking a moment to remember where he is at and why. At some point in the night, Morgan had let go of Reid's hand and turned his head in the other direction, burrowing his face into the unoccupied end of what turned out to be a _very_ uncomfortable pillow. Morgan rubs his eyes and yawns, glancing down at his colleague mid-stretch.

Morgan rubs his forehead in frustration, forgetting about the bandage wrapped around his head until searing pain shoots across his skin and seems to delve all the way into his brain. He pulls away as if he's just touched a hot pan, and tries to alleviate the pain by focusing on Reid instead. The agent hasn't moved a muscle since last night, and Morgan wishes it were still dark in the room. Reid's wounds looked much better when it was dark. Now, the sunlight bounces off his forehead, intensifying every little detail of a laceration spanning nearly the entire length of his forehead. At least twelve stitches hold his swollen skin together. Morgan reaches out and brushes Reid's sandy brown hair away from his forehead, careful not to touch the cut.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Shit, Hotch!" Morgan jumps at the sound of his boss' chilling voice, cutting through the comfort of the silence like a winter breeze.

"I'm sorry." Hotch apologizes, stepping closer to the bed and observing two of his agents. Other than the grave look on his face, the first thing that Morgan notices about Hotch is that he has traded his jeans and tee-shirt for his usual suit and tie.

"Headed to the office?" Morgan asks, trying to sound casual despite being slightly angry that Hotch could possibly go to work as if nothing is happening here.

"Yes," Hotch nods, almost guiltily as his eyes divert to the floor. "We have to finish up our paperwork from yesterday's case, and then we have three more cases lined up behind that." He senses the disapproval in Morgan's eyes, and quickly adds, "Morgan, you and I both know we can't do anything here. People still need our help."

Morgan heaves a sigh. He knows that Hotch is right, but he still feels like his team is allowed to be selfish just this one time. The BAU spends almost every day of their lives' together, even their 'days off.' They've sculpted themselves into a family, and sometimes it's difficult for Morgan to remember that, with what they do, work comes before family. It isn't right, but it is just how things have to be.

"Don't worry. I've arranged for you to have two weeks' medical leave. Paid, of course."

"Hotch -" Morgan starts. The thought that Hotch would make him go back to work today had never crossed his mind, but two weeks seems like a bit much considering his injuries are fairly minor. Morgan is grateful of course, for he much prefers to stay beside Reid instead of hunting serial killers, but he also understands that he has an oath to uphold. When does it become acceptable to put personal matters before your duties as a federal agent? Morgan doesn't know the exact answer, but the fact that his best friend is lying in a hospital bed and may never stand up on his own again seems like a fairly reasonable exception - especially since it's _his_ fault.

"Morgan," Hotch warns. There is a mutual, unspoken understanding that Hotch extended Morgan's medical leave for Reid's sake, rather than his own. Of course, Strauss could never know that. _That woman doesn't seem to understand that this team is more than just a team,_ JJ's voice echoes inside of Morgan's head. It is something their liaison had said about their Section Chief when Reid had been kidnapped by Tobias Hankel. Strauss had been especially hard on them during that case, insisting that they act objectively. _Love isn't objective_ , JJ had said to her, to the shock of everyone in the room. Strauss didn't say a word after that.

"I should get going," Hotch says, separating Morgan's reality from his memories. "Call if anything changes. And Morgan?"

"Yeah, Hotch?"

"Stay strong. For him." Hotch takes one last look at Reid, and Morgan can almost swear he sees sadness in Hotch's eyes before he turns and walks out, leaving the two alone again.

Morgan stands up, holding onto the side of Reid's bed as the room tips on its side for just a second. He hopes the effects of his concussion will wear off soon. Once the world comes back into focus, he crosses the room and picks up a black duffel bag that hadn't been there the night before. It has a yellow sticky-note attached to the handle.

 _Morgan,_

 _Dropped this off last night. I didn't want to disturb you._

 _P.s. Your cologne smells just as bad in the bottle as it does on your clothes._

 _Xoxo,_

 _Jennifer_

A smile plays at Morgan's lips, and he suddenly becomes aware at how thirsty he is. He digs through his bag and pulls out a shirt, jeans, and boxers. He's just about to untie his hospital gown when a soft knock interrupts him.

"No need to stop because of us, Chocolate Thunder. I was just starting to enjoy the show." In walks Penelope Garcia, stark opposite from the previous night. She wears a dress made of various colored triangles sewn together, her hair and makeup are perfect, and there is bright-colored jewelry adorning any inch of her body where jewelry is permitted. JJ stands behind her in a plain pantsuit, fiddling with her FBI badge to avoid further embarrassment over almost seeing Morgan in his birthday suit. Garcia on the other hand, is shameless.

"Baby Girl," Morgan scorns jokingly, "Not in front of the children."

"Oh, _I'm_ a child now?" JJ accuses. "Need I remind everyone about the action figures in your -"

"Okay!" Morgan claps his hands together as a distraction, but it is too late. She has already hooked Garcia, who stares between the two of them in curious amusement.

"You have action figures?" She asks Morgan, obviously trying to keep herself from laughing aloud.

"Ladies, ladies. Do you mind? I was just about to get out of this thing and find some coffee."

"I can help you with that." Garcia bats her eyelashes and runs a manicured hand up the length of Morgan's right arm. JJ rolls her eyes.

"Not necessary." The second blonde agent pulls a brown paper bag from behind her back, shoving it into Morgan's chest and walking past the two flirts, trying her best to ignore their disgustingness as she focuses her attention on Reid instead.

"Breakfast?" Morgan comments happily. "You are a God-send, Jennifer Jareau."

"Hey, it was my idea!" Garcia proclaims, mock jealousy dripping from her chirpy voice. Morgan kisses her on the cheek and dives into his breakfast. He hadn't noticed how hungry he was until he saw the juicy bacon inside. He almost forgets to chew before swallowing.

"He looks so peaceful," JJ coos, mostly to herself as she runs her fingers through Reid's soft, curly hair.

"He hasn't moved all night," Morgan comments as he digests the last bit of his food, washing it down with a big gulp of black coffee.

"I know," JJ responds, a teasing smirk crossing her face as she meets Morgan's eyes. They turn from content to mortified in a matter of seconds. "I saw you two lovebirds."

Morgan turns his head away, not sure how to react to JJ's banter. He isn't ashamed to have held Reid's hand, but he hadn't banked on anyone seeing it either. Any other time, he'd shoot right back at her, but he can't seem to grasp onto his true personality for any longer than a few minutes at a time. It almost feels like a sin to joke across their friend's unconscious body.

Sensing Morgan's discomfort, JJ turns back to Reid, her eyes trailing from his head down past his waist. She tries not to think about the damage done to his legs, but it is all that's been on her mind all night. She'd tossed and turned in her bed until four in the morning before she finally decided to get up and take a hot shower to calm her nerves. It hadn't helped any.

"He's gonna be okay, you know? He's Reid." Garcia approaches JJ, who smiles sadly when the analyst puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We should let him rest."

"Actually," Morgan says suddenly, his eyes flickering between the girls and the plastic bag full of his personal belongings that he'd dropped in the corner last night, "Would you mind sitting with him for a bit?" He directs his question at JJ, and then turns to Garcia. "I could use your help with something."

JJ looks between the two of them confusedly. Morgan had been so adamant on staying with Reid before, so she hadn't expected him to be willing to leave his side for a single moment. As much as she would enjoy some alone time with Reid, she also has to consider how serious Hotch had been when he'd told the team that they have a lot of work to do despite everything that's happened.

"Please," Morgan asks again. He doesn't know when he suddenly gained so much mannerism, but shudders at the thought of what happened the last time he said "please" to someone. If he hadn't, they wouldn't be standing in this hospital room right now. "We won't be long."

"Okay," JJ finally agrees. She hates being torn between work and her friends, but she's sure Hotch will let it slide today. And if he doesn't, well, that's what Rossi is for. The man is calm, classic, and somehow really good at swaying their superior when no one else can. Perhaps it is because Rossi was one of the founders of the BAU, and that makes Hotch feel as if he owes the older agent something.

"Thank you." Morgan turns to leave, stopping at the door when he feels two sets of eyes burning a hole in the back of his shaved head. "What?"

"You're going like that?" JJ's eyes sweep over Morgan, who is still in a paper-thin gown, thick blue socks, and has a sling hanging loosely around his neck from where he'd taken his arm out of it the night before.

"Right," he mutters, trying to hide the redness on his face as he picks up his change of clothes and heads into the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later, fully dressed. It makes him look a lot better, despite the bandages around his head and arm.

"I don't think so, gorgeous." To Morgan's confusion, Garcia strides up to him and jerks the sling out of his hands. He'd taken it off while changing his clothes, and should've known he wouldn't get by with it as long as Garcia and JJ are around.

Morgan sighs, but doesn't pull away when Garcia stands on her tippy-toes and reattaches the fabric around his neck. "Garcia, I'm fine. I don't need it," he tries to reason as she nudges him to insert his bandaged arm back into the sling.

"I don't care," she replies matter-of-factly, staring at him until he complies.

"Fine," he huffs, clearly not happy over losing an argument against her. "Can we just go? I want to get back before he wakes up."

* * *

An hour later, two FBI agents take a seat in a coffee shop inside of a mall. One of them is weighed down with bags from four different shops and a coffee with more sugar than actual coffee, while the other has just one bag and a cup of black caffeine.

"Garcia," Morgan laughs, "We came here for _one_ thing. How did you end up spending $400?" He waves his bag in front of her face, indicating the one thing that they'd walked all the way to the mall to find. She swats him away, a look of sheer misunderstanding on her face.

"Derek," she proclaims as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, "All of _this_ ," Garcia waves her hands in front of her face, her bangles clinking together loudly, "Is not free."

"Yeah, well…" Morgan cups her chin in his hand. She looks into his eyes dreamily, and Morgan can't help but smirk. He knows he has that kind of power over women, but he never boasts about it and he certainly doesn't use it to his advantage, despite what Reid would say about the matter. Morgan can hear it now - Reid's mildly-pitched voice going at what sounds like a hundred words per minute as he rattles off some ridiculous statistics about how, to Morgan's disagreement, his looks have gotten him far in life. As annoying as it is, Morgan can't deny that he misses it.

His thoughts are interrupted when Garcia's hand wraps around his wrist, pulling his own hand away from her face and placing it gently on the table. He looks down as her bright pink finger grazes over the back of his hand, knowing what's coming next.

"You know, hot stuff, you're always accusing Reid of building these walls around him and not letting any of us in, but you're worse." Morgan opens his mouth to protest and then closes it again, hating the fact that Garcia is right. Morgan is the kind of person who worries about everyone around him while neglecting his own needs. It's always worked for him, and he'd like to think that it's helped shaped the strong person that he is today. Now, he isn't so sure.

An image of Reid, unconscious and bloodied in the passenger seat of Morgan's car, flashes before his eyes. A familiar tightness squeezes at his chest, the same sensation he'd experienced when he felt for Reid's pulse and got nothing more than cold skin instead. As hard as it is for him to admit, he'd thought Reid was dead in that moment. Morgan is ashamed of himself for have given up on him so quickly.

"I want to see it," he suddenly says, to his own surprise just as much as Garcia's. She looks at him in shock. When she'd initiated this conversation, Garcia had hoped to get Morgan to open up to her about what happened that night, not to make such a painful request.

"Honey, I don't know if -"

"Garcia," Morgan interrupts. His mind has been made, and Garcia nods her head silently, knowing it cannot be changed.

"Okay. My car is at the hospital. We'll walk back and I can drive you."

"Thanks, Mama. You're the best."

"I don't need you to tell me that," Garcia says, forcing herself to shine even though she has a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay, I never write/update stories this often, but you guys have been leaving such nice reviews that I really want to finish this story for you! I believe you'll find that things are starting to get more interesting in this chapter, and please don't kill me for all the cliffhangers! (Side note - the statistics that Rossi rattles off in this chapter are completely made up. I was too lazy to look up the actual ones.)**

At the BAU, Prentiss, Rossi, and Hotch sit at the round table in the conference room, waiting for JJ and Garcia to return. JJ had called Hotch and told him that Morgan had needed their help with something, and to everyone's surprise, he was more than okay with it.

"Have you spoken to Strauss?" Rossi asks, attempting to break the silence in the room.

"Yes," Hotch answers, his face looking guilty of something.

"What did you do?" Prentiss asks, recognizing the same look that Hotch gets every time he goes against Strauss' orders and follows his own judgement instead.

"I, uh…" Hotch begins. As their head profiler, Agent Hotchner knows that a lot of people look up to him, especially Prentiss, who has always gone out of her way to make him and the team proud of her. Lying to the Section Chief may not be the best quality to pass along to his team. "I may have exaggerated Agent Morgan's injuries to buy him some time with Reid."

"What did you say?" Prentiss pronounces each syllable. Speaking slowly is something she does when she is skeptical of someone's decisions. Hotch picked up on this habit after just a week of working with her. Sometimes, working for the BAU has its disadvantages.

"I told her that he had two broken ribs."

"Hotch!" Prentiss exclaims, glancing over at Rossi, who seems unphased by his supervisor's blatant lie. Prentiss has never understood how Rossi stays so equable all the time, but he _did_ found their team. Everything that they do today can be routed straight back to the best-selling author, so who is she to question his motives?

"Oh, come on, Emily!" Hotch smacks the table with the back of his hand, more so in a joking manner rather than irritance. "Don't act like you didn't exaggerate that 'cold' you had last month." Hotch puts emphasis on the word "cold," and his lips _almost_ form the tiniest smile. Rossi laughs behind the case file he's flipping through, not really reading the gruesome details on the pages.

Luckily for Emily, the ringer on Hotch's cell phone saves her from being put on the spot. He excuses himself, and Prentiss' eyes follow him all the way out of the room and down the catwalk, until he disappears through the bullpen and presumably into his own office.

"What do you think that was about?" Prentiss asks Rossi, who still pretends to be studying their current case.

"Do you think this guy is a psychopath?" he asks, pointing to a picture of a young, brunette woman with a cross carved into her chest. "This level of torture is definitely sadistic."

"Probably not," Prentiss answers, her mind somewhere else entirely. "He brushes their hair and cleans the blood off their skin after dumping them. Psychopaths aren't remorseful. Hey Rossi?" She asks, steering the conversation into what is really bothering her. He finally looks at her, his thick, black eyebrows raised in an imperfect arch. "Do you think we're bad people, not visiting Spencer this morning?"

Rossi closes the manilla folder, places it on the table, and folds his hands neatly on top of it. He considers Prentiss for a while, being patient in his answer. "I think," he finally says, being sure to keep his eyes locked on hers, "That Spencer would want us here. He would tell us that -" Rossi clears his throat and raises his voice several octaves, going into a terrible impersonation of Reid that makes Prentiss laugh. " _\- Statistically speaking, there are fourteen people being murdered in Washington D.C. alone at this very moment. Supposing that one person is murdered every single day per one thousand people, and there are roughly 319 million people in the U.S., that's…_ " Rossi trails off, pretending to do the math on his fingers even though he knows he probably couldn't figure it out with a calculator in front of him. ". _..a lot of people being murdered. And you guys are here, staring at me in this hideous outfit and -"_

"Okay, Rossi. I get it. You win." Prentiss punches him on the arm, and Rossi leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "It just feels wrong. We should be there."

Rossi is about to express that he feels the same way, but he's cut-off when Hotch rushes back into the room, half-jogging, half-fast walking. "Change in plans," he says urgently. "We're going to the hospital."

"It's so…" Morgan begins, his words catching in his throat as Garcia walks up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He brings his own hand up to rest on top of hers, looking about the scene gloomily.

It was a relatively short walk from the mall to the hospital, and the two of them wasted no time in getting into Garcia's car and heading straight to where the accident had occurred the previous night. Shattered glass still litters the area below them and a tree leans on its side lazily, but the scene has been cleaned up well enough.

"Derek, where are you going?" Garcia looks helplessly after the agent, who slowly descends down the bank. She looks at her four inch heels, and decides she better stay at the top, where Morgan had been standing next to her just moments before.

Ignoring Garcia's pleas to come back, Morgan glances around the area. Tire marks near the road show where his car first overcorrected, but they disappear about three feet down the hill. _That must be when we started rolling,_ he thinks with a shudder. Morgan takes a few steps closer to the tree that had prevented them from going straight into a small lake at the very bottom of the hill, stopping in his tracks when he spots red-stained grass.

"Dammit!" He yells in frustration, kneeling down next to the spot and striking his fist on the ground. Garcia jumps in her position on the side of the road, but he doesn't notice. "Why not me?" he asks, looking up at a god that he isn't so sure exists. Morgan lets his fingers trail over the dried blood and oil, using the tickle of the grass to remind him that, despite everything, they are both still alive. That has to count for something, right? After giving himself a moment, Morgan stands back up and walks over towards the tree. It's been splintered down the middle, but not broken entirely. In a way, it reminds him of Spencer - damaged but still alive.

Morgan reaches out and touches the tree. He isn't sure why he does it, but he does. He closes his eyes and takes in the sensation of the cool, rough bark grazing his fingertips. "Ouch," he groans, opening his eyes and pulling his hand back as a small splinter embeds into his thumb. He instinctively raises his thumb to his mouth, and that's when he sees it.

Just below where the tree begins to split, a dull, poorly carved symbol is etched into the light brown bark. Morgan gets so close that the tip of his nose is almost touching the tree, and that's when he sees the words. _The killer and the kisser,_ written just above the outline of a heart that has been pierced with another carving - some kind of hooked object, it appears.

It isn't hot outside, but sweat begins to trickle down Morgan's forehead. His throat becomes a desert and he can vaguely hear Garcia calling out to him several yards away. He turns to her blurry figure, unsure if his vision is compromised because of his concussion or because he is entering a state of shock. "I'm coming," he calls out hoarsely. Using his body to shield his actions from Garcia, Morgan digs his phone out of his pocket and takes a quick photo of the peculiar message. He tries to wipe any hint of a panic off of his face, and then makes his way back up the hill with his phone tucked securely in his back pocket.

"You okay?" Garcia asks tentatively, once they have climbed back into her car and merged back onto the road. She knows it's a stupid question to ask, but it's better than not saying anything.

"Yeah, I just…" Morgan decides not to tell Garcia about what he found down the embankment, at least until he knows for sure that it's something they should be concerned about. He doesn't want to worry his team about all the possibilities unless there is a good reason for it. He's going to call Hotch later and ask his opinion on the matter.

"Derek, you have to stop blaming yourself," Garcia says, frustrated that she can't seem to help in any way. The stoplight in front of her suddenly turns yellow, and Garcia steps on her brakes a little harder than usual. It isn't enough to actually do any harm, but Morgan flings his arm out in front of Garcia protectively, causing the velcro of his sling to rip off of his neck. Pain shoots up his forearm and his pristine white bandage starts to turn a soft shade of red almost immediately. "Oh no," Garcia utters weakly, part being grossed out by the sight of blood and the other part feeling terrible. She hadn't stopped to think that the wreck might make Morgan wary of cars, or even cause PTSD. People like Morgan - strong, unbreakable, fierce - aren't affected by things like that. Or maybe Garcia's knight in shining armour has let his sword slip out of his grasp on this one. The idea is heartbreaking to her.

"I am _so_ sorry," she begins, her eyes darting from Morgan's gritted teeth to the road. Her breath quickens, and Morgan places his bleeding arm on her leg.

"Don't," he insists. "We're almost back at the hospital. It'll be fine."

"But Morgan, I - " A loud ping fills the cab of the car. Morgan recognizes it as his phone. He shifts to one side, digs it out of his pocket, and stares at Hotch's number lighting up the cracked screen.

 _Is he calling me back to work? Is Strauss going to fire me for being so reckless - no pun intended?_ Ridiculous, unlikely scenarios plague his thoughts until he finally takes a deep breath and picks up the phone.

"Morgan," he states. "What? _When?"_ Garcia glances over at him. His face is a mixture of surprise, shock, and dread. She asks him what's going on, but he holds a finger up to silence her. "We're two blocks away," he finally says, and Garcia's heart falls to the floor. They are two blocks away from the hospital. Something has happened to Reid.

Morgan bursts through the hospital doors three minutes later, not meaning to leave Garcia behind but not exactly caring too much about it either. He marches through a second set of doors marked "intensive care" and heads straight towards Reid's room, only to be jerked aside by a strong arm. Morgan holds his fist up, prepared to swing at whoever grabbed him without warning. He stops his fist when it's already barreling through the air, right at Hotch's face.

"Derek, it's me." Hotch seems unphased by the fact that he'd almost got knocked out cold by a subordinate, instead focusing on calming the agent down. It takes Morgan some time to register what is happening, but when he does, the crazed look falls from his dark brown eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" He asks hastily, looking around the waiting room at his anxious team. Rossi stands just behind Hotch, overseeing the exchange in case things get out of hand. Behind him, JJ is sitting in a chair with her leg bouncing up and down rapidly, and Prentiss paces the floor in front of her. "Why aren't you in there?" Morgan pushes past Hotch and towers over JJ, unrelenting anger threatening his voice. She cowers away in surprise.

"Morgan, I -"

"I left you here because I didn't want him to be alone! Did something...was he…" Morgan's words become a slew of fragmented questions. This is something that the team has dealt with many times before, mostly when someone experiences extreme shock and anger all at the same time.

"You need to sit down," Prentiss instructs, grabbing Morgan's shoulder and gently pushing him into a chair next to JJ. JJ turns her head away, offended that he'd accuse her of leaving Reid all alone.

"No, what I need is -"

"Derek, Spence woke up."

"W - what did you just say?"

"He woke up," JJ repeats, still refusing to look at Morgan. She's seen that kind of rage in his eyes before, but only when he's confronting an UnSub. It was more hurtful than infuriating that he'd look at her in the same way, but he had done just that as he walked towards her, screaming accusations for the entire hospital to hear.

"What do you mean? Why are you here then? Why did Hotch sound so...so…" Morgan trails off again, the nature of the scenario not adding up in his head. Shouldn't they be happy that Reid is awake? Why, then, did Hotch sound so concerned over the phone, and why is everyone's faces three shades lighter than usual? "Is he okay?" He finally manages to get out.

"Why don't we take a walk?" Rossi suggests, always the most reasonable out of the group.

"Whatever you have to tell me, you can say it here." The words fall out of Morgan's mouth much meaner than he'd intended. Rossi ignores his tone of voice.

"Fine," he agrees, taking four steps closer to Morgan's chair and looking down at him empathetically. "Morgan, you're bleeding." Rossi's voice lingers with concern, having just noticed that his wound is reopened.

"I'll deal with it later," Morgan hisses, growing angry again that precious seconds are ticking by with no answers as to his best friend's well-being. "Tell me, Rossi." The eldest profiler hesitates for a moment, but seeing no easier way to break the news, he tells the story exactly as JJ had told all of them.

"Reid woke up about forty minutes after you and Garcia left." Rossi glances back at Garcia, who had walked up behind them just as Prentiss forced Morgan to sit down. "He was very disoriented...started screaming about 'the grim reaper waiting to take him away.' JJ tried to comfort him, but he didn't seem to recognize her. Nurses came in and sedated him, and he's being given a CT and MRI as we speak."

The words slowly sink into Morgan's mind. He closes his eyes and breathes, knowing that if he doesn't, all of his thoughts will become one jumbled mess and just make his head hurt even worse. After a moment inside his head, Morgan slowly opens his eyes and speaks again, this time much calmer. "I need to show you guys something."

The team all gather around Morgan as he pulls his phone out, navigates to his photo album, and pinches his fingers to zoom in on a slightly blurred image. "What are we looking at?" Prentiss asks, cocking her head to the side in confusion.

"This is the tree that stopped my car. Garcia and I went to the scene today. I had to…" He decides to skip over that part for now, not really up for the emotional aspect of things. "Anyway, I was checking things out and I saw this carved into the tree."

Hotch takes the phone out of Morgan's hand, squinting his eyes to get a better view. "The color of the bark suggests that this is a fresh carving," he notes aloud. "What does it say?" Morgan swallows hard, beginning to wonder if he's just overreacting about the whole thing.

"It says _the killer and the kisser._ There's a heart there, too. It looks like an arrow going through it."

"That's one messed up arrow," JJ confides, grabbing the phone from Hotch so she can get a look at the image. She observes that the object going through the heart has a hooked end, rather than a straight one. "What are you suggesting, Morgan?"

"I don't know," he answers her honestly. He hadn't really thought about what the carving could _mean_ , just that it didn't belong there. "It's there for a reason though, Jennifer!"

Her bright blue eyes meet his brown ones. All of the anger and hurt that JJ had been feeling a few minutes ago melts away, and she places her much smaller hand into Morgan's own sweaty one. "Morgan, I know this has been really difficult for you, and I'm not saying this is anyone's fault, but…"

Morgan bolts away from JJ as if she is on fire, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth just as Prentiss had been doing, holding his forehead in his good hand. "No, no, no," he mutters under his breath. "I'm a profiler too." The calm in his voice is almost scarier than if he were yelling at the top of his lungs. "You were going to say that maybe I'm looking for something else to blame, weren't you?" JJ bows her head guiltily. Morgan doesn't stop, but he turns his attention to Hotch instead. "Hotch, do you really think this is a coincidence?"

The agent falters, torn between what is logical and what will give Morgan peace of mind. He is clearly overwhelmed and not thinking straight, and maybe even experiencing a mild form of late-onset PTSD. Hotch chooses his next words methodically and carefully. "I think that we shouldn't rule anything out. The doctor said that Reid's tests will take at least an hour. Prentiss and I will go examine the wreckage. JJ can stay here and wait on any news about Reid while Garcia looks into the significance of the words. I want David to take you outside. You need a break."

Before Morgan has a chance to protest, Rossi is guiding him away with one hand on the small of his back, muttering something about getting his arm checked out first. Hotch looks to Prentiss, who shoots JJ a small, unsure smile before following him down the hallway. Garcia tries to think of something to say, but is at a loss for words. She looks down at JJ, who is biting her inner-cheek to hold back the floodgates in her eyes. She doesn't have the heart to leave JJ all alone like this, and decides she will just work from her laptop, which she always carries in her ginormous purse. As she pulls out the shopping bag that Morgan had asked her to hold onto, Garcia can't help but wonder who is _really_ falling apart - Reid or Morgan?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: My apologies for the long wait on this chapter. I had a really difficult time writing it, and this one is actually my third version. I'm still not too sure how I feel about it, but I hope it's good enough for you guys!**

It's three hours before Morgan is allowed back in the room with Reid. He'd undergone several tests and the doctor insisted that he rest alone, in case he were to wake up in a state of confusion again. There had been some arguing, but Hotch eventually calmed Morgan down enough to avoid a scene. The rest of the team eventually retreated back to the office, but not before Garcia made Morgan pinky-promise her that he'd call as soon as anything happens.

"Agent Morgan?" Morgan stands eagerly when a nurse calls out his name in the waiting room.

"You be good for Grandma, okay?" He smiles down at a blonde, curly haired little boy that he'd been coloring with on the floor. The boy had been crying when he came in with a very sick mother, and Morgan naturally wanted to comfort him. He smiles when the boy looks up and nods at him before returning to his coloring book with a bright green marker.

The nurse smiles as Morgan approaches her. Over the past two days, he's learned how to tell the difference between a genuine and faulty smile among the hospital staff. Something in their eyes always gives it away when they have come to deliver bad news. That's why an immense pressure lifts off his chest when he sees her.

"Reid is okay?" He asks as she looks over a clipboard.

"Yes, sir. All of his tests came back great. We were concerned that he may have some swelling around his brain, but that isn't the case. He does seem to have a cracked rib, but they usually heal themselves. You can go back in now, but I must warn you that he may have another episode when he wakes up. Be gentle, and don't be surprised if he doesn't recognize you or where he is at first."

"I understand," Morgan responds quickly, eager to take back his place next to Reid's bed. "When will he be able to go home?" He asks as they begin walking towards the room.

"It's hard to say," the nurse sighs. "It really just depends on…" She hesitates for a moment, so Morgan finishes her sentence for her.

"It depends on whether or not he'll be able to walk." A familiar wave of nausea hits Morgan like a speeding train. He grabs onto the wooden railing along the side of the hallway, hoping the nurse doesn't notice. He's in no mood to be checked out again, though he'd probably make an exception for _her_ under different circumstances.

"Yes, sir. Well, here we are. Just press the call button if you need anything."

"Thanks, sweetie." Morgan tries to flash his charming smile, but it comes off much sadder than what he had intended it to. The nurse gives a small nod and heads down the hallway, stopping in front of another door as Morgan steps inside Reid's room.

The oxygen mask covering Reid's face has been replaced by tubes, which Morgan takes as a good sign. Other than that, things appear to be the same as they were when he left this morning. He strides over to the bedside and gives Reid a once-over before sitting back down in the chair, fumbling with the bracelet on his arm a bit as he wishes Reid would wake up.

After a few minutes, Morgan pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts to play Solitaire, growing irritated when he can't make out the numbers on some of the cards thanks to the crack in the middle of his screen. He wishes he'd have picked up a new phone while him and Garcia were at the mall, but the only thing on his mind was the contents of his little paper shopping bag, which now rests underneath of Reid's bed.

After twenty minutes of repeatedly losing the game, Morgan slams his phone down on the table, immediately wishing he hadn't. One worried glance at Reid shows that he hadn't registered the noise, and Morgan lets out a slow, grateful breath as he picks up a smaller hand into his own. He sits like that for a few minutes, absentmindedly tracing circles around Reid's cold skin. "Come on, kid. Wake up." He brings Reid's hand up to his face and plants a gentle kiss on his bony knuckles, freezing with his lips still pressed against it when he feels the tiniest of flinches.

"Reid? Can you hear me?" He asks, lowering his hand to rest in his lap as he continues to rub circles around it. Another, slightly stronger grip makes Morgan's heart skip several beats, and a wide smile paints its way across his face. "There's my Pretty Boy."

A series of small whimpers emulate from the bed, and Morgan finds himself reaching out to brush a few stray hairs away from Reid's eyes. "What is it?" He asks worriedly, not sure if the genius is trying to communicate or just in the process of waking up.

"H-hurts…" The other man mumbles hoarsely. His weak, broken voice makes Morgan's heart ache.

"What hurts?"

"Everyt-thing. Cold. So c-cold." Morgan glances around the room and spots a closet near the door. He gently pulls away to go to it, but the grip on his hand tightens, and more whimpers come from the bed.

"Reid, it's okay. I'm not leaving you. I'm just going to get you another blanket." After a minute, Reid very slowly nods his head without opening his eyes, allowing his hand to fall back onto the bed when he lets go of Morgan. The other agent crosses the room quickly, grabs a spare blanket from the closet, and returns to Reid's side. He's afraid that if he doesn't keep him engaged, Reid will slip back into unconsciousness. "Here, kiddo. Let's get you warmed up."

When he finishes tucking the blanket around Reid's shivering body, Morgan gently sits down on the edge of his bed. He notices Reid jump slightly at the unexpected movement, and picks up his hand again. "Can you open your eyes and talk to me?" He asks, thinking Reid has fallen back asleep when he doesn't get a response.

Slowly, Reid's head turns towards Morgan. His eyes open the tiniest sliver, close again, and open once more. Reid blinks hazily a few times, staring a hole through Morgan as if he doesn't even see him sitting there. Morgan waves a hand in front of his face. "Reid? Can you see me?" Reid licks his lips, swallows hard, and nods. Morgan swears he can see the corner of his lips twitching into a smile, but it's too subtle to be sure.

"Welcome back." Morgan grins. Reid looks around the room slowly, his eyes becoming wide with fear as confusion and panic settles in. His breath becomes shallow, and Morgan puts a hand on his chest to calm him. "Easy, kid. You're in the hospital. Everything is okay."

Reid tries to prop himself up on his elbows, but he is too weak and everything aches. Morgan resumes his little hand-circles, whispering the occasional "shh" as he runs his fingers through Reid's hair. As he becomes more alert, his whimpers become louder and Morgan's heart aches a little harder. "Scoot," he instructs his friend, patting Reid on the shoulder as he wriggles his upper body over in the bed half an inch. Morgan resists the urge to laugh at how little Reid actually 'scooted,' knowing that it probably hurt the younger man to move at all.

Deciding what small amount of room he had would have to do, Morgan turns around in the bed so that he is sitting parallel to Reid, stretches his legs out in front of him, and props himself up on his elbow so that he is half-sitting, half-lying on his side next to him. Morgan picks at a loose fiber on the blanket for a while, allowing a comfortable silence to fill the room. Then, noticing the pained expression on his face, Morgan asks, "How about you tell me what's hurting?"

"M-my head," Reid stutters, his voice still weak but more familiar sounding than before. He brings a hand up to touch his forehead, but Morgan wraps his thumb and index finger around Reid's tiny wrist before he makes it too far.

"No touching," he scolds in a fatherly manner. Reid's eyes follow Morgan's hand as he guides his arm back down, his pupils nearly doubling in size when he sees the needle disappearing into his vein.

"N-no," he begins frantically, attempting to pull the I.V. out on his own, but not being strong enough to get out of Morgan's grip. "T-T-Tob-" It's as if someone has flipped a switch inside of Reid, turning him from calm and sedated to hysterical and frantic. A new beeping fills the room, loud and less constant than the one Morgan has grown used to.

"Reid!" Morgan pleads, having to raise his voice over his heavy breathing and the machines now going haywire all around them. Morgan knows it is only a matter of time before nurses come barreling in and kick him out, so he does everything he can to calm him on his own.

"Tobias...h-he made me...I can't feel…"

"Shh, shh," Morgan whispers again, wrapping his arm around Reid and pressing him against his chest. "He's gone, Reid. He can't hurt you anymore."

"M-Morgan, he dr-drugged me. I said I d-didn't want i-it, but he m-m-made me. I'm sorry."

The dam that Morgan has tried so hard to keep from cracking explodes into a thousand pieces, and he can no longer hold back his own tears. He rests his chin on top of Reid's head and squeezes his eyes shut tightly, focusing on his breathing while soft brown hair tickles at his nose. "I know you didn't, Reid. That was a long time ago. It's okay now. No one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise."

 _Except for you_ , a menacing voice screeches inside of Morgan's head. _This is your fault. He wouldn't be here if you hadn't almost killed him._ "No," he says to the voice, his grip around Reid tightening as he pulls him closer and starts to play with his hair again. "It was an accident!"

"Morgan, I'm so s-sorry. I s-s-aid n-no, but I couldn't fight hi-him. Weak...t-too w-weak."

"Hey, enough of that," Morgan says calmly, swallowing a lump in his throat and trying to steady his voice. "It's over, Reid. Tobias didn't do this to you. I...I did." Saying the words aloud makes everything feel so much more real, and all of the weight of the world comes crashing down on top of Morgan's head. Unbearable pain shoots through his skull, and he knows it has nothing to do with the concussion. Morgan ignores it when he hears the door swing open and heavy footsteps pounding against the floor.

"Sir, you need to move." Someone grabs his shoulder. His arms tighten around Reid, and he relishes in the comfort of it before he's pried away and off the bed.

"Morgan!" Reid shouts in a heartbreakingly desperate voice as a nurse on the other side of the bed grabs his arm and wraps a leather strap around his wrist and the metal bar of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Morgan shouts angrily, having seen this scene far too many times to not know that there is only one reason why patients get locked down to their beds. "Stop! He's not hurting anyone! He's just scared!"

" _Agent Morgan,_ " the nurse who pulled him away from Reid speaks sternly, "Your friend is having a panic attack. We need you to calm down before you make matters worse." Morgan brings his shaking hands up to his face, running his fingers across his bandaged forehead and down his cheeks in frustration.

"Okay, okay," he breathes mostly to himself, trying to get a grip for Reid's sake rather than his own.

"Dr. Reid? You're going to feel a slight pinch, but this will calm you down, okay?" The terrified look on Reid's face as he glances between Morgan and the nurse holding a syringe dangerously close to the scars in the bend of his arm is something that will be seared into Morgan's brain for a very long time. He knows he should tell them not to give it to him, but he can't stand to see Reid freaking out like this any longer. Despite the protests of the second nurse, Morgan sits down on the edge of Reid's bed and takes his hand back possessively.

"Reid, look at me." Reid is staring at the nurse to his right as if she is holding a loaded gun to his head. "Hey, Pretty Boy!" Morgan snaps his fingers loudly. Reid's head darts in his direction, and Morgan cups his cheek in his hand. "Look at me. Don't worry about them. Just stay with me." Morgan doesn't take his eyes off of Reid's as he nods in indication for the nurse to give him the clear liquid, making sure that a friendly face is the last thing he sees before slipping away again.

* * *

"Alright, what do you see?" Agent Hotchner asks Prentiss, scanning the scene of the wreckage. It is usually Morgan who puts himself into situations to determine what happened, but he's given Prentiss enough pointers for her to work through it.

"He overcorrected here." She bends down and examines black tire marks on the road, which disappear into to the grass and are replaced by skidmarks before vanishing entirely, where the car began to roll. "Traveled about ten feet before he lost control and rolled the rest of the way down. What was it he told Rossi, again?"

Hotch reflects back to what Rossi had told him from his conversation with Morgan while they'd been getting some air at the hospital. "He said Morgan didn't remember a lot, but the last thing he recalls is looking over at Reid."

"That doesn't make sense," Prentiss observes, looking around the area skeptically.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she begins, standing back up and addressing her boss, "Look at these marks on the road. See how they curve outward before dropping off the shoulder?"

"Like he was swerving to avoid something," Hotch answers, now bending down himself to get a closer look. "But Morgan said he took his eyes off the road, and that's what caused him to crash."

"Hotch, I've rode with Morgan hundreds of times, usually in pursuit of an UnSub. He's a safe driver. I just don't think he would have looked away long enough to wreck." Hotch stands back up and gazes down at Prentiss, the wheels in their brain turning in sync as they come to the same conclusion.

"Do you think something in the roadway caused this?" Hotch asks his agent. "Perhaps an animal?"

Prentiss hesitates, studying the surrounding area. There are no houses nearby, but they are close enough to the city to see towering skyscrapers and hear the occasional beeping horn. "We're too close to the city for it to be a wild animal, and there are no houses near so it probably wasn't a pet. I don't see any signs of debris, and I know that Morgan wouldn't risk dropping off the shoulder just to avoid some trash. There aren't any marks on the other side of the road, so it probably wasn't another vehicle that merged into his lane."

The pair of them look at one another gravely, not having to say anything to understand. It happens frequently amongst their team. Sometimes, they just _know_ what the other is thinking, and they know that it is the same thing that they themselves fear.

"We should check out the tree," Hotch instructs, clambering his way down the hill in his suit with Prentiss close behind. She stops when she sees shades of red coating the green grass, her breath catching in her throat. Hotch turns back to look at her solemnly.

"Do you think Spencer will be okay?" she asks outright, knowing that her boss isn't the type of person to lie just to make someone feel better.

"He'll adapt," Hotch replies knowingly, "That's what Reid does, and it's what he always has done. He adapts to survive."

The answer doesn't exactly make Prentiss feel any better, but it'll have to do. "Let's check this thing out and get the hell out of here," she says, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable standing in the very spot where two of her closest friends could have died. Despite the focused and unwavering expression on Hotch's face, she is sure he feels the same way as they continue on down to the strange markings in the tree.

* * *

Back at the BAU, Garcia is frantically scanning every last nook and cranny of the Internet in search for the phrase in Morgan's picture. She'd been at it for hours, to no avail, and was just about to pull her blonde hair out when a rasp comes at her door. The visitor enters without knocking.

"Find anything?" JJ asks, her eyes red from lack of sleep and crying.

"No," Garcia says angrily, pushing the buttons on her keyboard twice as hard as she needs to. "And trust me, when Penelope Garcia can't find something, it is unfindable! What if our UnSub just made it up to freak us out?" She asks, spinning around in her computer chair to face JJ.

"UnSub?" JJ raises her eyebrows at Garcia. No one told her they were considering this a crime. She just thought they were looking into it to give Morgan peace of mind, and hopefully prevent him from blaming himself for the rest of his life. Garcia looks at her incredulously, her mouth open in surprise.

"Yes, UnSub! You don't actually think my Derek-pooh had something to do with this, do you?"

JJ is taken aback by Garcia's sudden shift in attitude, but answers her honestly. "Garcia, accidents happen. It was dark. We were all exhausted and -"

"No, JJ. Accidents do not happen! Not to this team, anyway. Nothing in this life happens by mistake and if it does, it's just because we haven't found the reason behind it yet!"

JJ looks at Garcia sadly, her words all too familiar. "Spence said the exact same thing when he told us about Diana," she says, referring to Reid's schizophrenic mother. "God, Garcia. How are we going to tell her?" As one of Reid's best friends, JJ somehow feels obligated to break the news.

"We aren't," Garcia says flatly, "Not until we know for sure that we have to."

JJ can't help but smile at Garcia's unrelenting hope, wishing that she could have the same outlook on the situation. Another knock at the door breaks up their dwindling conversation, and both girls turn to see Rossi standing in the hallway, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Aaron called." He stares down at his shoes as he speaks, clearly regretting the conversation already. "Boston PD has requested our assistance in a string of murders, effective immediately. Him and Prentiss are going to meet us on plane in twenty minutes."

"What about our boys?" Garcia asks frantically, looking between the two agents standing in her office, both of them avoiding her gaze.

"Well, Hotch and Emily seem to believe something - or someone - caused the accident purposely. But until Reid or Morgan are able to give us a clear and accurate description of what happened, we have active cases to solve." Rossi smiles at Garcia sadly, knowing that the gesture will not be returned.

"Something? Someone? Oh, God. You mean...someone tried to _kill_ my precious bundles of crime-fighting goodness?" Rossi doesn't respond, but gives Garcia a knowing look before turning his attention to JJ.

"You should get ready. We're two men down. This case isn't going to be easy."


	7. Chapter 7

Morgan rolls over on the uncomfortable leather couch, feeling around in the dark for his phone on the table. He squints as the screen illuminates his face. _2:14 AM._ He'd manage to sleep for three hours, which is many more than what he'd gotten over the course of two days. He sits up and rubs at his temple, wishing more than anything that he were at home in his warm bed, with Reid doing the same at his own apartment. Sighing to himself, Morgan stands up, stretches, and feels his way over to the bathroom inside of Reid's room.

Flicking the light on, Morgan hovers in front of the mirror and observes his reflection. The skin under his eyes are sagging, and the bandage on his forehead is beginning to peel off, pieces of it dangling in front of his face. He grabs ahold of one end and gently unravels the white fabric, tossing it in the trash and turning back to assess the damage. A nasty bruise canvases a relatively small area above his left eye, the skin already beginning to turn yellow as a sign of healing. He turns on the cold water, cupping his hands under the faucet and splashing the refreshing liquid on his face. He uses a towel to pat himself dry, and then heads back out into the room, leaving the bathroom light on as a guide.

Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan catches the slightest shimmer of something in the soft yellow glow - Spencer's eyes, open but tired and disoriented. Morgan approaches the bed cautiously, trying to avoid a repeat of several hours ago. "Reid?" He asks gently, gaining the young man's attention. When he doesn't answer, Morgan steps closer and sits on the edge of the bed in silence.

"M-Morgan…" Reid says, much to Morgan's surprise. He turns his head to face him, smiling down softly at Reid.

"How you doing, kid?" Morgan ruffles Reid's hair. Reid doesn't flinch in the slightest. _A good sign,_ Morgan reassures himself. Instead of answering the question, Reid retorts with one of his own.

"What about you? Your head doesn't look so good." Reid's big, light brown eyes lock in on Morgan's unbandaged forehead, worry evident in them. Morgan smirks, looking away and at the empty wall behind the bed.

"Ah, Dr. Reid. Always too worried about the rest of the world to consider his own pretty self." Morgan giggles, and laughs even harder when Reid lets out a small giggle himself. He suppresses it quickly, a pained expression crossing his face. "Your head?" Morgan asks, his own laughter turning to worry.

"Y-yeah," Reid responds quietly, his gaze falling down to the blankets draped over his body. "And my chest, my back, my arms, and…" Reid trails off. Morgan tries to ignore the fact that he didn't say anything about his legs hurting. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I should," Reid replies after a moment of thought, "I remember everything." Morgan can't help but smile, despite the pathetic tone to Reid's voice.

"We were in an accident, Reid. Try to think. What's the last thing you can remember?"

"I - I don't know, Morgan." Reid shifts in the bed slightly, frustrated that pieces of his memory are gone. "Walk me through it."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Morgan starts, afraid that Reid may have another panic attack if he attempts to do a cognitive interview.

"Please?" Reid asks, his voice cracking in his state of vulnerability. "I need to know, Morgan."

Morgan looks down at Reid, his heart sinking at the lost, glazed over expression in his eyes. He can't help but give into the request, feeling it would be cruel not to. "Okay," he agrees reluctantly, reaching down and taking Reid's hand, which has become a habit at this point. Reid stares down at their intertwined hands awkwardly, not too fond of human contact. "Sorry," Morgan says, pulling away.

"The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually sa-"

"Yeah, yeah," Morgan interrupts, ecstatic that Reid is starting to act more like himself. "It's actually safer to do this." Before Reid has time to react, Morgan leans over and pecks him on the cheek, laughing in triumph at the disgusted look on the other man's face.

"Gross!" Reid turns his head in the other direction, knowing that he can't get too far away from Morgan in the twin-sized hospital bed. Morgan gives Reid a friendly pat on the shoulder, happy that he accomplished his goal in loosening Reid's nerves a bit before starting the interview.

"Alight, kid. I'm playing. Why don't you relax and close your eyes for me?" The mood in the room shifts as Reid turns his head back around to look at Morgan. He looks scared, unsure of what to expect since he's never forgotten anything a day in his life, and thus has never been on the other side of this process. "It's okay," Morgan says, sensing Reid's hesitation. "I'm gonna be right here the whole time."

Reid lets his eyelids close, licking his lips as he often does when he's either nervous or thinking. "Go back to the jet, on our way home from Washington." Morgan picks out a memory shortly before the accident occurred, hoping to ease him into things. "What do you smell?"

"I smell...whiskey," Reid answers, his eyes moving around underneath of his lids. "Rossi is having a glass. We're playing chess."

"What am I doing?" Morgan asks, remembering how he'd been sitting next to them with his headphones on, trying to tune out a conversation between his two co-workers that he didn't understand.

"You're…" Reid pauses, and then laughs. "You're singing Nas. Rossi is telling you to stop it. Emily is sitting across the aisle, recording you on her phone."

" _What?"_ Morgan asks incredulously, momentarily forgetting the objective of the interview. He makes a note to get ahold of Prentiss' phone and delete said video next time he sees her. "Never mind. What happens when we get off the plane?"

"We all walk into the BAU together. Hotch is on the phone with his babysitter. Jack is in the background telling us all goodnight." Reid's lips curl up. He's always been fond of children, perhaps because they find him intriguing rather than 'weird,' as the adults tend to call him. "The girls are talking about shopping, and I'm telling you about my favorite novel. I can tell that you don't care." Guilt washes over Morgan's features. He shakes it off, and promises himself that he will hang on to Reid's every last word from now on, for they could be his last.

"Now you and I are in the elevator. You're...you're trying to take me home, but I tell you no. You won't leave me alone and I don't really feel like arguing, so I give in." Morgan closes his eyes, wishing he'd have just let Reid go home on the subway. They'd be in Boston with the rest of their team right now if he had.

"Does anything stand out to you in the parking lot? Any unusual cars, or someone who doesn't belong?" Reid starts to shake his head no, but then stops himself. "Reid?" Morgan asks again, adrenaline coursing through his body now.

"I think I see a shadow over in the trees, but I'm so sleepy I ignore it. I thought it was just the wind but…"

"The wind wasn't blowing." Morgan finishes for him, earning a nod from Reid. "Did you see what it looked like?"

"It was...a person, I think. I can't see their face or anything. Just the shadow."

"That's okay, Reid," Morgan whispers, grabbing his hand again without even thinking about it. This time, Reid doesn't pull away. "What happened after that?"

"We were...we were driving. I kept dozing off, but you were singing again." Morgan shakes his head. He's going to have to stop singing so much. "I-I opened my eyes and…" Reid's chest starts to rise and fall more quickly, and sweat beads break out onto his forehead.

"Reid, what is it?" Morgan asks in a soothing voice, not wanting to press him too much. "It's okay. You're safe." He places his free hand on Reid's chest, reminding him that he can't get hurt again. "What do you see?"

"It's...it's...D-D-Death. Black...cold...everything is so cold. So quiet. Morgan!" Reid suddenly shouts, flailing around in the bed and accidentally smacking himself right on the cut across his forehead. Morgan grabs both hands and pins them down to his sides, rising up on his knees and hovering over Reid's shaking body. "It hurts. It hurts so bad. My...my legs…" Violent tears stream down his cheeks. All of the energy drains from his body, and Reid relaxes underneath of Morgan.

"Okay, Pretty Boy. You did great. I'm here now. I'm right here." Morgan twists around and drops onto his back, wrapping his arms around Reid and pulling him into him much like he did before, ignoring the fingernails that dig into his arm helplessly. "Shh. I've got you." Reid turns his upper body towards Morgan's, burying his face into his chest and letting his tears pour out freely.

"Morgan, my l-legs…"

"I know, Reid. I know." Morgan presses his lips on the top of Reid's head, holding them there for a while as he gently rocks back and forth. For the first time in his life, the charming, charismatic Agent Morgan is at a loss for words, but not short on tears by a long shot.

They lay like that for a good ten minutes, Reid's sobs becoming quieter and quieter until they stop all together. Morgan slowly pushes himself away, holding his friend at arm's length and brushing his curly hair through his fingers. Reid keeps a firm hold onto Morgan's arm, afraid of being left alone. "Hey, can I show you something?" Morgan asks in an effort to lighten the mood. Reid stares at him with puffy eyes, his gaze proving skeptical. "It's just under the bed. I'm going to get it, okay?"

Morgan sits up and leans over, his hand fumbling blindly underneath of him and finally brushing against a paper bag. He pulls it up and returns to his position of lying on his back next to Reid, who stares at the bag curiously. "I uh...I got this for you." He holds out the bag, prompting Reid to take it from him. The younger agent does, looking it over for a few seconds before sticking a hand inside and pulling something incredibly soft and purple out of it.

He looks between the scarf and Morgan confusedly, unfolding it and holding it up to examine. "A sixty-eight dollar scarf?" He asks, shocked and confused as he squints to make out the numbers on the tag. "Why?"

Morgan pats his own bandaged arm, looking between it and Reid with a sad smile. "I kind of ruined your other one. I know it was your favorite, and my blood didn't match it well."

"Wow," Reid breathes, flattered that anyone would buy him a gift at all, especially Derek Morgan, who takes pride in being a 'manly-man.' "That's really kind of you, Morgan, but you didn't have to. My old one was only ten dollars. This is too much." He tries to hand it back, but Morgan swats him away.

"C'mon. I owe you. You bought me a seven dollar burger and I almost killed you in return." Morgan surprises himself with the joke, and regrets saying it as soon as it comes out of his mouth. Reid seems to think otherwise though, for a genuine, white smile lights up his face for the first time since all of this began.

"That was one expensive burger," he laughs, clutching his cracked rib and willing himself to settle down as a new pain introduces itself into his body. "Thank you, Morgan." Morgan nods as a gesture of 'you're welcome,' watching in amusement as Reid wraps the scarf around his neck and looks down at it in satisfaction. "What do you think?"

"I think," Morgan says, leaning in close and pretending to study the garment carefully, "That it compliments your stitches very nicely." In that moment, both men come to the realization that, sometimes, all you can do is laugh about things to keep them from destroying you inside. Morgan tugs at the scarf, removing it from Reid's neck and tossing it over on the couch along with the bag it came in. "We should get some sleep." He looks back over at Reid for confirmation, only to discover that he's already snoring softly. Morgan gives him one last pat to the chest, readjusts the blankets for him, and retreats to his spot on the couch.

* * *

"What is it, Baby Girl?" Morgan asks with a yawn. He'd woken up at around seven in the morning and had been watching Reid sleep until his phone started buzzing with a call from Garcia.

"How's my Junior G-Man?" are the first words out of her mouth. Morgan smiles as he looks over at Reid in the bed, sleeping soundly.

"Better," Morgan says. "He woke up last night and seemed well-aware. I know I was supposed to call you," he adds quickly, hoping to avoid an ass-chewing from the sassy analyst. "It was like three in the morning. He didn't stay up long."

"Oh." There is a brief silence on the other end. Morgan can only imagine that Garcia has a million questions fluttering around her brain and can't decide which one to ask first. "Does he remember anything about the accident?"

Morgan sighs. "Pretty much the same things I've already told you, but he said something about a shadow in the parking lot. He didn't think anything of it that night because he was tired. And then something about death…" His words trail off as Morgan bites his lower lip.

"Weird," Garcia comments.

"What's weird?" Morgan asks. He hadn't thought much of Reid's unusual description about death, especially considering that he was still in a slight state of shock and panic at the time.

"The first time he woke up, he was yelling about the Grim Reaper, and now death? I don't know, Morgan. Something is definitely up with him."

"He's just in shock," Morgan says, though he has to admit something seems off about the whole thing. "You know, he did tell me once that -" Morgan stops himself. Though it had never been spoken between the two, he knows that anything Reid has told him about Tobias Hankel is meant to stay between them. Reid had trusted Morgan enough to tell him all of the details, and he isn't about to betray that trust now.

"What did he tell you?" The voice comes from the door instead of through the phone. Morgan pulls the device away from his ear to see that the call has ended, and then looks up to see Garcia standing in front of him, a look of impatience on her face.

"Garcia! Shouldn't you be at the office, helping the team in Boston?" Morgan stands up and approaches her, attempting to change the subject but knowing it is no use.

"Nice to see you too, hot stuff," she mutters, crossing the room and speaking to Reid instead. "Hey, cutie-pie. Why don't you wake up and tell Mamma whatever it is that Derek is keeping from me?" Morgan shakes his head, sitting back down on the couch and watching in silence.

"He's just being Derek," a close-eyed Reid whispers from his bed.

"What?" Morgan asks, getting up and taking his usual seat on the edge of the bed. "How long have you been awake?"

"Three hours, twenty-four minutes, and seventeen seconds." Any other time, Morgan might have considered slapping him, but now, all he can do is smile.

"You know what they say. You can take the boy out of the genius, but you can't take the genius out of the boy. Why didn't you say anything?"

"No one says that and even if they did, it doesn't make any sense," Reid retorts matter-of-factly, finally opening his eyes and turning to Morgan. "You look terrible."

"Thanks. You don't look so great yourself." Morgan pats Reid on the cheek playfully, much gentler than what he'd normally do considering the bruises and lacerations covering most of his face.

"Boys, settle down," Garcia warns, reminding both agents that they are in a hospital and probably shouldn't be acting so childish. It feels nice though - normal, even. "How are you feeling, sweetie?" Reid turns his attention to her, his eyes shifting between them both uncomfortably. "Reid?"

"I'm okay. It's just...my whole body is hurting and I...I can't seem to remember everything." Garcia looks down at him sadly. She can't imagine what it must feel like for someone with an eidetic memory to forget something.

"What do you mean, I'm 'just being Derek?'" Morgan asks, gaining a kick to the chin from Garcia.

"Ow!" He groans, reaching down and rubbing his leg.

"Can't you be a little more _sensitive?_ Ugh, men!"

Reid and Morgan share a perplexed look, obviously clueless to Garcia's womanly instincts. "I just meant you were being a good person. You didn't tell her because I trusted you with it." Morgan falls silent, not knowing how to respond. Garcia, on the other hand, swoons over their brotherly-relationship.

"You guys are adorable," she says, gaining a blush from both men. "You don't have to tell me, Reid. I understand."

Reid turns his head away from both of his friends, contemplating over whether or not he should tell Garcia what he saw at the hands of his captor a couple of years ago. They'd all seen some of it unfold on live footage, but he'd only ever told Morgan about how it had made him feel, and the things that Tobias had done to him when the camera wasn't rolling.

"You remember when Tobias...well...when he killed me?" Garcia nods slowly, wishing she could forget the image of her precious genius seizing and taking his last breath on the cold, cement floor. "Before he revived me, I saw this white light. In that light was the promise of no more pain. It was so warm...so inviting. I didn't tell anyone because I thought you guys would think I'm crazy. I only told Morgan because I started to _feel_ crazy keeping it to myself for so long. But it's true. It's what I saw and I know I didn't make it up because -"

"Oh, honey," Garcia starts, standing up and pulling Reid into a gentle hug. He returns it gratefully, revelling in the human contact that he usually tries to avoid at all costs. "No one thinks you're crazy. I mean, sometimes you _drive_ us all crazy with your statistics and random useless facts and -" Morgan clears his throat, indicating for Garcia to get to the point. " _Right,"_ she says, pulling away and sitting back down. "What does that have to do with any of this?"

"I don't know," Reid says honestly. "I just keep seeing this image right before we crash. It's this black cloak standing in the middle of the road with a hood, and it's holding a scythe. Maybe it's just my imagination playing tricks on me, like it did with Tobias."

Suddenly, Garcia jumps up from her chair and starts pacing the room restlessly. Reid and Morgan follow her with their eyes, neither of them saying anything because they're so used to this type of behavior with Garcia. "The symbol!" she proclaims, as if this is supposed to mean something to either of them.

"What?" Morgan asks, his eyebrows raised.

"The symbol on the tree, you big dummy! Like JJ said, it wasn't an arrow! It was curved! Just like a -"

"Like a scythe," Morgan finishes, the pieces falling into place but still not making any sense.

"Morgan?" Reid asks, his eyes showing confusion and a hint of fear.

"You haven't told him, have you?" Garcia whips around and looks at Morgan incredulously, who backs up a few inches on the bed.

"He's only been awake three times since we've been here. Once he had a panic attack and -"

"He had a panic attack?! Don't you think that's something we should have known?"

"I -"

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Reid asks, being largely ignored by the two bickering people in front of him. He shuts his eyes and tries to ignore them, but has a difficult time doing so when each of them attempts to talk over the other.

"Guys!" He finally yells, clutching at his ribcage as a severe pain rips through him. Garcia rushes to his aid while Morgan stands idly against the wall, guilt mixing in with the angry look on his face. Before either of them have time to apologize, a nurse enters the room.

"What's going on in here?" She asks, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the tiled floor. "Dr. Reid is still in intensive care. Extra stress is not good for him. I'm going to have to ask one of you to leave."

"It was just a misunderstanding," Morgan starts, but is interrupted by the nurse.

"I'm sure it was, Agent Morgan, but we can't risk him having another panic attack. Now, I'm going to tell his doctor that he's awake, and when he comes in, one of you better be gone." The nurse glares between the two of them one last time before exiting the room. Morgan and Garcia glance between one another and then at Reid, obviously expecting him to make the final decision.

"How about you both just leave?" He snarls to their surprise. "I'm a grown man. I can handle being in a hospital alone."

"Not a chance, Pretty Boy." Morgan steps back up next to the bed, leaning in close to Reid's face and replacing his angry voice with a soothing one. "I put you in here and I'm not about to let you go through it alone." At his words, Garcia's demeanor shifts. She grabs Morgan's arm and looks up at him softly - an unspoken apology between the two of them.

"You should stay," she says, gaining a nod from Morgan. He steps back and gives Garcia room to lean down and kiss Reid, rolling his eyes when he doesn't pull away from her like he had with him. "You boys take care of each other, okay? I'll be back to check in. Call me," she whispers to Morgan as she brushes past him, looking back at the bed one last time before leaving quietly.

Morgan approaches the bed again, this time sitting down in the chair. Reid turns his head in the other direction, clearly upset by the argument that had unfolded right in front of him. "Reid, I'm sorry. I was going to tell you. I just...didn't know when."

"How about now?" Reid asks angrily, keeping his head turned away. Morgan sighs hesitantly, but sees no way out of it.

"Before you woke up yesterday, Garcia and I went to the site of our accident. There was a carving in the tree." He waits for a reaction from Reid, but doesn't get one. "Do you want to see?" Morgan pulls his phone out of his pocket, navigates to the photo, and sits it down on Reid's stomach. It is a moment before Reid picks it up and looks.

"You think someone did this?" He asks after studying it for a while, handing the phone back to Morgan and looking at him for the first time since Garcia left. Morgan nods, unsure of whether or not Reid is still angry at him.

"Reid, whatever you think you saw out there...it could be connected to this."

"You're saying someone tried to kill us?"

"Maybe," Morgan replies. "Garcia's been looking into it, but the rest of the team is in Boston and they need her priority to be with them right now."

"I understand," is all Reid says. Morgan can tell that there is something else on his mind, but he doesn't press it after dropping so much information on him at once. This is really the first time that he's been fully alert since the accident, and Morgan hasn't done anything to make matters any better.

"Look, Reid. I'm really sorry, okay? I just didn't want you to worry with everything else going on. I've already done enough harm -"

"Morgan, stop."

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be here right now. I should've just let you go home alone, like you wanted. Maybe then -"

" _Morgan."_ This time, it is Reid who reaches out and takes Morgan's hand. Morgan stares down at it, shocked and speechless.

"Please stop blaming yourself for this. I think you're hurting worse than I am, but you shouldn't." A single teardrop plays at the corner of Reid's eye. Morgan reaches out to catch it, but Reid turns away so he can finish speaking. "Just listen to me. I know I'm not like you or Hotch or Rossi or anyone else. I know you guys think I don't feel things and that I don't know how to deal with emotions and that I just sit around reading textbooks all day."

"Hey, that last one is true," Morgan pitches in, his voice shaking dangerously. Reid laughs, pulling Morgan's hand closer to him and looking down at it as he speaks.

"It doesn't take a profiler to see that the guilt is eating you alive. Morgan, if you're right, if someone did this on purpose, you couldn't have stopped it. If he was targeting us, we were safer together. You think you almost killed me, but you _saved_ me. What are the chances they would've found us if you hadn't ran up that hill? I would have bled out. And if I did take the subway, that guy would've just gotten me while I was alone, tired, and unarmed. Stop blaming yourself, _please."_

For the first time, Morgan lets his tears fall openly and freely. He isn't the type to cry, let alone to cry in front of another man. He tries to brush it off, but he's sure it's too late.

"I uh...allergies," he mutters, taking his hand out of Reid's and rubbing his eyes.

" _Right,"_ Reid says. "You have allergies, and I passed my annual FBI psychical."

"You know, you're lucky you're in that bed, kiddo." Morgan jokes, punching Reid lightly on the arm.

"Oh, is that right?"

A knock on the door silences their playful banter, and they both look up to see Dr. Ramirez standing with his usual clipboard in hand. Morgan stands to shake his hand, eager to find out if Reid will be able to go home soon. "I see you're awake," the doctor says with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," Reid replies. "I have a headache and my ribs hurt a bit, but other than that, I'm good."

"That's great." Dr. Ramirez looks between Reid, his clipboard, and Morgan, who stands at the end of the bed watching the exchange, wondering why the doctor's grave facial expression doesn't coincide with his cheerful tone of voice. "Agent Morgan, would you mind stepping outside?"

"No," Reid says quickly, "It's okay. He's family. He can stay."

"Well, alright then. Some people take the news better than others. Some want time alone to process it, others prefer the emotional support of family and friends. You gentlemen seem very close."

Time slows down as the realization of what is about to happen hits Morgan like a ton of bricks. He watches in slow motion as Reid's mouth opens, closes again, and the doctor places a hand on his shoulder before continuing.

"Wait!" Morgan blurts out, causing both men to look at him strangely. "It should be me. Let me tell him."

"Sir, I don't think that's a good id-"

"I _have_ to do this," Morgan says again, his nostrils flaring under the gaze of the doctor. "Please."

"Okay," the doctor eventually agrees.

"Alone," Morgan adds when the doctor makes no effort to move.

"Yes, of course," he replies with a small nod. Morgan follows him all the way to the door, making sure it closes all the way before turning back towards the room, taking a deep breath and searching for the words that he never thought he'd have to say. Reid was right. Morgan _is_ hurting the worst. He's just too stubborn to admit it.


	8. Chapter 8

"Morgan, what was he talking about? What's wrong? Am I...am I going to die?" Reid winces as he forces the upper half of his body into an upright position, his words becoming jumbled and panicky. Morgan crosses the room regretfully, suddenly wishing he hadn't volunteered to break the news.

"You're fine, kid. You're fine," Morgan reassures, gently pushing Reid back into a lying position before taking a seat next to him. This time, he doesn't bother grabbing his hand. He isn't sure how to face what's coming next.

"Look, Reid...you took the worst of the accident. We rolled onto your side first. We slammed into the tree on your side." Morgan pauses, his eyes wandering aimlessly around the room for anything that could take him out of this moment.

"I know that, Morgan," Reid responds confusedly. "You told me. The doctors and nurses told me."

"Right," Morgan says, still avoiding Reid's lost eyes. "Do you know why I didn't pull you out of the car myself?"

"I dunno, Morgan!" There is a sense of urgency in the profiler's rapidly raising voice. "You were scared of hurting me, I guess." Morgan nods gravely.

"That and, well…" he takes a series of deep breaths, closes his eyes, and then opens them again. Despite what Reid or anyone else tries to tell him, Morgan can't shake the feeling that the whole thing is his fault. His mom always told him that if he were man enough to do something, he were man enough to admit to it. He keeps her voice in the back of his mind as he finally turns and looks at Reid directly.

"You were trapped in the car, Reid. The whole right side of the hood was smashed in. The door wouldn't open, and I couldn't break the window because you were leaned up against it." Morgan stops again, realizing that he is adding in unnecessary details to prolong the deliverance of his actual news. "There was nothing I could do to help you," he finally says, feeling weak in that he can't get the words out. Morgan buries his face in his hands and takes a few controlled breaths, flinching slightly when Reid touches his arm comfortingly.

"Morgan...please, just tell me."

"Okay," the older man whispers, lowering his hands from his face. Reid pulls his own hand away from Morgan's arm, his eyes silently searching his face for any hint as to why his friend is being so hesitant. "But before I do, I need you to know that I will always, _always_ be your friend, okay? No matter what happens at work, or to you, to _us_...you'll always have me."

"Morgan, you're scaring me."

"I'm sorry. Sorry." Reid has never seen Morgan act so nervously before. He'd always known the agent to be incredibly confident and proud. And all of this talk about something happening? He wishes he'd just come out and say whatever needs to be said. It can't be any worse than the torture of not knowing.

"The doctor says you may never walk again."

If Morgan thought time had slowed down in the moments following the accident, then this is like an old video cassette that's had the tape ripped out, balled up into someone's fist, and carelessly shoved back in its cartridge. With no regard to Reid's reaction, Morgan stands up and crosses the room, striking his fist as hard as he can against the brick wall before resting his forehead against it.

"God, I'm an idiot. I'm such a fucking idiot."

For an agonizingly long three minutes, the room is deathly silent, save for the soft beeping of a heart monitor. Morgan stands with his head pressed firmly against the wall, clenching and unclenching his swollen fist as blood drips from his knuckles and onto the floor. Behind him on the bed, Reid is unmoving. In fact, the man who can solve four-page equations in his sleep doesn't think at all. The same eight words play over and over again in his head like a scratched record, threatening to rip his brain right in half.

What will he do now? There's no way the FBI will let someone confined to a wheelchair work for them. Sure, he could just stay behind at the office and do paperwork or offer his knowledge from afar, but what would be the point? Why be on a team if he can't even play the game? What will his mother think? Will she say, "I told you, Spencer. I told you they were going to kill us both eventually?" Will he even be able to see her anymore? Are paralyzed individuals allowed to fly? Paralyzed... _paralyzed._ No, that word doesn't sound right. Spencer Reid can't be paralyzed. He graduated high school at twelve years old. He has three Ph.D.'s. He was supposed to do great things with his life! All of his dreams come crashing down around him at once, and Reid is simply too weak and broken to stop them.

Once the initial shock and denial of it all has worn off, Reid regains his senses and looks up at the man who has his back towards him, his fist clinched to the point that his naturally dark knuckles are whiter than the sheets on the hospital bed. New, even more relenting thoughts grow in Reid's brain like a poisonous vine, somehow making him feel worse than before. Even if he can't walk ever again, even if he never gets to experience the satisfaction of talking down an UnSub without losing a single life, Reid will move on. He'll bury himself in books and versus himself in chess games. He'll work up strength in his upper body to make up for the lack of usage of his legs. He'll live, but what about Morgan? At least for Reid, he can't actually feel the wounds - not _yet_ , anyway. As hard as he tries to hide it, Morgan wears his guilt more obviously than the holster of his gun. Psychical wounds heal. They eventually stop hurting and are forgotten completely. It's the wounds of the heart that are truly painful and everlasting.

"Morgan?" Reid's voice comes out small and broken. He barely recognizes it as his own. He clears his throat and tries again. "Morgan, you're bleeding." Morgan doesn't answer him. Instead, he brings his bleeding hand up to the wall and places his palm flat against it, letting it slide slowly down as he twists around so that his back is now up against the bricks. He still doesn't look at Reid - how could he? - as he lets the rest of his body follow his hand all the way to the floor. After all the things he's seen in his career, after all the murder and blood and taking down the bad guys, this is the thing that breaks him.

"Morgan?" Reid asks again. He can just barely see the tip of his friend's head from his position on the floor, so he attempts to readjust himself in the bed. It doesn't work, and when he can't take the pain in his chest any longer, Reid falls back down on the pillow in defeat. "Derek," he tries again, opting to use his first name to hopefully get his attention. "Can you please come here? I can't see you."

Something is mumbled from the floor that Reid doesn't quite catch, but it sounds suspiciously like "Why would you want to?"

"Come on, Derek. Please? I'd come to you, but…" Reid trails off. He isn't ready to say it. He can't. Saying it makes it real. Still though, his unspoken acknowledgement of his condition shakes something loose in Morgan, who finally rises to his feet and slowly approaches the bed.

"Sit down," Reid instructs, pain shooting through his heart when Morgan can't bring himself to look at him. "No. Here." He pats an empty spot on the bed when Morgan starts to sit in the chair. The agent hesitates, but eventually does what is asked of him, staring out the window in silence.

"Can I see your hand?" When Morgan doesn't answer, Reid takes it anyway. The germaphobe uses his bare thumb to wipe away the blood on Morgan's knuckles, getting a better look at his busted skin. "You shouldn't have done that. Every year, more than six-hundred and forty-eight thousand people become infected by an unrelated virus during a hospital stay. Seventy-five thousand of them die. You know, most people think hospitals are among the most sterile places in existence, but there are actually a staggering number of bacterias that are immune to most cleaning chemicals. Open-wounds increase the likelihood of infection by nearly eighty percent."

Morgan keeps his eyes trained on the window, wondering to himself how anyone could possibly be worried about a harmless bacteria getting the very person who ruined his life sick. He doesn't deserve for Reid to care about him, and had half-expected to be yelled at and kicked out. Instead, he's sitting on his bed while Reid gently caresses his newest wound, despite the blood that still seeps out. It isn't fair.

"Morgan, tell me what happened to my legs."

No response.

"Derek, please." Reid's grip on Morgan's hand tightens. The latter doesn't have it in him to squeeze back. He rattles off the injuries like a programmed robot, still not looking away from the hopeless world outside.

"Clean break to the left Tibia. Crushed right Fibula. Possible extensive damage to the nerves and muscle. Lots of blood loss."

Reid scans the vast sea of knowledge in his brain for about ten seconds, rapidly pulling out everything he's ever read on broken bones, leg injuries, muscles, and nerves. "There's a twenty-seven percent chance that I'll walk again," he finally states, his voice surprisingly emotionless. "The bones will heal with proper care, as will any muscle damage. Despite popular belief, the nerves are actually quite resilient to these things, and can even heal on their own. Some doctors and scientists argue that nerve damage is irreversible, but there have been one hundred and twenty-two cases worldwide over the past one hundred and fifty-six years in which a previously paralyzed patient has walked again, with or without the assistance of various medical techniques. If you take into account the -"

"Reid," Morgan finally says, tracing his thumb over the young man's cold hand to calm him. "No offense, but please stop." The fact that only one hundred-and-something people have ever recovered worldwide over that many years doesn't exactly make Morgan feel any better. If anything, it just adds to his nausea.

"Right, sorry," Reid mumbles, letting his hand fall from Morgan's and to his side. "Hey, Morgan?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you look at me?"

Slowly but surely, Morgan breaks his fixation away from the window, turning his head and allowing his eyes to fall onto his best friend, who, even after being told he may never walk again because of him, is _still_ his best friend. It doesn't matter what the world throws at Reid. There is nothing that can weaken his beautiful soul.

"What is it, Pretty Boy?"

"Nothing," Reid replies seriously, "I just wanted to make sure you weren't too ashamed to look me in the eyes."

Morgan almost loses himself at the heartbreakingly innocent words, but he forces a smile instead, bringing his hand up to stroke the side of Reid's pale cheek. "You're not gonna get rid of me that easily, kid."

"Good," Reid laughs, bringing his own hand up to wrap around Morgan's wrist. "Because if I'm going to be stuck in bed for awhile, I need someone to annoy."

* * *

Morgan and Reid have been sitting in a very comfortable silence for the last little bit. Reid has been napping on and off all day, and Morgan has been sprawled out on the couch, staring up at the tv without really paying attention to it. He's just about to doze off when a knock at the door startles him.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." In walks Dr. Ramirez, in his usual white coat and carrying his usual wooden clipboard. He takes a moment to assess the machines around Reid and scribble things down onto his chart before speaking again. "Things are looking very well, Dr. Reid. We're going to take you off the morphine drip now, but I must advise you that things may get very uncomfortable once it wears off. We can give you -"

" _No."_ Reid interrupts the doctor boldly, who seems somewhat taken aback. "Tylenol will be just fine."

"Sir, you understand that -"

"I do, and Tylenol is fine."

Morgan turns away and pretends to scratch at the back of his head. He isn't used to Reid being so... _blunt._ Besides, this is one of the other issues that Morgan has yet to address. He is surprised that Reid hasn't mentioned it thus far, or at the very least demanded for the I.V. to be removed. Morgan has tried, and failed, several times to bring the subject up, but it never seems like a good time. He just hopes that Reid isn't mad at him for not telling the doctors to not give him narcotics. If he is, he hasn't shown it yet. But that is just one of the many qualities about Reid - he is good at hiding his emotions, even in a room full of profilers.

"Very well then." Dr. Ramirez writes something down on his clipboard, looking back up at Reid only when he's finished. "I'm going to give you a prescription, though. It's a higher dosage than what you'd find over-the-counter. You'll be on antibiotics as well, to ensure your wounds don't get infected."

"Thank you. When can I go?" Reid's voice still holds a tinge of annoyance behind it, but not nearly as evident as before.

"If all goes well, I'd like to see you out of here by tomorrow. We'll stop the morphine, get you to eat something, and then stop the artificial nutrients as well. A nurse will be in shortly to remove your I.V.'s and a few of these machines, but I'd like to try something with you, if that's okay."

Reid hesitates for a moment, his eyes finding Morgan's for some form of reassurance. The older agent nods, and Reid finally agrees. "Yeah, I guess that would be okay."

"Excellent." Dr. Ramirez looks over at Morgan, back at Reid, and then to Morgan again - an unspoken request.

"It's fine," Reid says, reading his doctor's mind. "He can stay."

"The nature of this exercise may make the both of you a little... _uncomfortable._ " Dr. Ramirez chooses his words wisely, not attempting to sway Reid's decision in either direction, but merely prepare him for what's about to happen.

"You know," Morgan says, standing up and wandering over next to Reid, "I'm pretty hungry and this hospital food isn't doing it. If you want those I.V.'s to stay out, you need to eat something, too. Why don't I go out and get us some takeout or something?"

"I…" Reid falters. He doesn't necessarily mind being left alone in the hospital, he just has some trust issues after the incident with Hankel, and having a stranger poking and prodding him without a friend to be supportive is one of the things that makes him anxious. Sensing this, Morgan squats down and puts a hand on Reid's bare arm.

"Reid, look at me." Morgan doesn't continue until he looks at him. "There's a Chinese place just around the block. I will be _right_ back. I promise."

"O-okay," the other man stutters, still unsure of being left alone for the first time since the accident. "But I get to eat your fortune cookie."

Morgan can't hide the grin that forms on his lips, and he makes no effort to try. Laughs have been few and far between lately, and seeing Reid acting somewhat like his old self is even more rare. "We'll discuss it," he teases, though he already knows he'll give in. Morgan ruffles Reid's hair before nodding at Dr. Ramirez and walking out of the room.

* * *

It only takes Morgan ten minutes to get the food, and he is surprised to see Reid sitting alone in his room, his expression unreadable. Morgan walks in and sits the bag of food down on the table, growing concerned when Reid doesn't acknowledge his presence. He touches his shoulder lightly, and Reid jumps. He looks up at Morgan, wide-eyed and tearful.

"Hey, what happened? What's wrong?" Morgan's heart speeds up. He promised Reid that he wouldn't let anyone hurt him again. Had he just broken that? "Come on, kid. Talk to me."

"I couldn't feel it."

"What?" Morgan sits down in the chair, rubbing his temple as a reaction to Reid's short response. "What are you talking about?" He examines the man up and down, taking note that both I.V.'s, his oxygen cannula, and the dreaded tube that ran up underneath of his blanket had all been removed. "It didn't hurt when they took all that stuff out of you? Isn't that good?" Morgan keeps his question broad, though by "stuff," he really only means one thing. He almost winces at the thought.

"No... _that_ hurt worse than the time I got shot," Reid replies, no evidence that his statement is meant to be taken as a joke. "Dr. Ramirez...he said he wanted to try something. So he - he took his hand and pushed a little. I could feel his gloves on my head, my neck, my chest, my stomach, my waist, and my knees. But below that...nothing."

Morgan stares at Reid in utter silence. From the moment that Dr. Ramirez asked him to try something, he knew what it was going to be. He knew that Reid probably wouldn't feel anything in his legs given that he hadn't mentioned feeling any pain in them. He knew it, but he refused to absorb it. Call it denial if you will, but to Morgan, it's different than that. He knew it and he accepted it, but he somehow blocked it out of his mind. It was his way of protecting the emotions that come with it. But now, seeing Reid speechless and on the verge of tears, there is no escaping it.

Instead of fumbling for words that he knows he'll never truly find, Morgan instead pulls out two white boxes of chicken and rice. He opens one up, sticks a plastic fork in it, and hands it to Reid. Reid takes it, but sits it down on his lap uninterestedly. "Eat, man. I want to get you out of here."

Reluctantly, Reid picks up his fork and takes a small bite of General Tso's chicken. He doesn't realize how hungry he truly is until the sweet and savory sauce hits his tongue, and he momentarily forgets all of his problems as the two of them eat their food in silence.

"It's okay that you don't know what to say," Reid comments once he's finished, closing up the now empty box and placing it on the table next to his soda. Morgan looks down at his shoes, having not expected for him to say that. "Actions speak louder than words, you know?" It is an ironic question, considering the kind of work that they do.

"What do you mean?" Morgan asks softly.

"Morgan, I understand that the rest of the team has a job to do and I respect that they can't be here right now, but every time I've opened my eyes, you've been sitting right here. You live ten minutes away. You didn't have to stay here every night on the couch, but you did. Not because you got orders from Hotch or because you had to stay due to your own injuries. You just...did. I don't expect you to know what to say or tell me how I should feel. I can't even process any of this myself."

A silence follows Reid's words. Morgan knows that he should say something, but he hadn't at all expected Reid to get so deep in his feelings. Over the years, he's learned that the young agent likes to stay confined inside the walls of his own heart. It can be dangerous at times, but Morgan has always trusted that Reid will let someone in when he can't stand the isolation anymore. He just wasn't prepared for one of those times to be right now.

"Reid, I _did_ have to stay. I had to stay for myself just as much as I had to stay for you, and I don't mean that in a selfish way. It's just...ever since we found out about your mom and how your dad left, I've kind of felt responsible for you. I know it makes you feel like a child, but there is _nothing_ childish about needing someone to just...be there. I know you haven't processed all of this yet, and that's okay. Take your time. But when you _do_ , and when you're ready to talk, I'll be here."

"Thanks, Morgan."

Morgan nods in acknowledgement, feeling a sense of lightness after letting out some of his heavier emotions. Like Reid, Morgan isn't one to talk. He shows that he cares in other ways, like promising to put a guy's head on a stick when they kidnap your best friend. Actions do speak louder than words, but sometimes, those words still need to be spoken.

"Can I have your fortune cookie now?"

"Hmm…" Morgan pretends to think it over, earning a smack on the arm from Reid. "Only if you promise not to snore tonight."

"Deal."

Morgan smiles, digging around in the plastic bag and pulling out two fortune cookies. Reid opens the first one quickly, pulling out the little slip of paper and popping it into his mouth without bothering to read the fortune.

"What's it say?" he asks with a mouthful of the treat, when Morgan picks it up off his lap and squints at the tiny words. As his eyes trail over the piece of paper, the smile on Morgan's face falls like a comet falling from the night sky.

"Morgan?"

"Reid, spit it out. _Now."_


End file.
